


If You Wish it So, Make it So; Daein

by Bookninja2021



Series: Ashnard's Daein [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Abusive Parents, Background Relationships, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Gore, M/M, One Sex Scene Later On, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, This is Ironman baby, heroes will die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookninja2021/pseuds/Bookninja2021
Summary: King Ashnard of Daein has long ago achieved power. Now, he wants even more. Fortunately for him, a wandering bishop has an answer to his question...(Novelization of Path of Radiance, Chapters 1-11, with some unusual POVs)
Relationships: Almedha & Pelleas (Fire Emblem), Ashnard & Pelleas (Fire Emblem), Elaice | Ilyana/Zihark, Ike/Senerio | Soren, Lethe/Ranulf, Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Pelleas (Fire Emblem)/Original Female Character(s), Sephiran/Zelgius (Fire Emblem)
Series: Ashnard's Daein [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095425
Kudos: 1





	1. The Fateful Feast

The sun was setting on the Daein capital of Nevassa, and yet the castle of the nation’s King Ashnard was only starting to light up. 

The pitch-black stone walls of Ashnard’s castle were decorated with three rows of torches, stretching across the entire lavish banquet hall. The blood-red dragon banner of Daein was omnipresent throughout the hall, reminding Ashnard’s many esteemed guests exactly under whose rule they feasted. 

Seated on his grand ebony throne, wood barely strong enough to hold his armoured weight, Ashnard surveyed the hall and reveled in the seeming success of the event. Each of his Four Riders was in attendance, as they should be, and all the eminent nobility of Daein, at least those still living, filled the seats. In addition, many commoners, peasants and craftsmen alike, found themselves fortunate enough to be in His Majesty’s royal presence.

Of course, simple fortune placed nobody in their seat that night. Ashnard had bothered to address tickets to very few of the people sitting in front of him. The rest, over a thousand, had been freely distributed to whoever could keep hold of them long enough to enter the castle. Peasants and minor nobles alike were perfectly willing to tear each other apart for the esteemed privilege of attending the birthday celebration of Prince Pelleas. It was an absolute joy to hear of for Ashnard. This is how a nation thrives! It butchers itself down to only its strongest, who can then piece it back together, unbreakable! He would have let out a mirthful chuckle at the thought, were over a thousand people not present to witness him do so. 

Ashnard’s child was eighteen years of age on that day, and Daein’s thirteenth king had much planned for his son in the near future. The vast majority of the seated men and women had little idea of what this dinner was for; they were only excited to perhaps gain royal favour by making themselves known. Indeed, it was impressive for any of these people to keep hold of their tickets and not die in the process. However, much stricter standards would be held if any of them wished to truly gain the sadistic king’s approval. 

The hall was astir with conversation, none of it pertinent. All of these talkers fell dead silent when Ashnard propelled himself from his throne and bellowed, “Greeting, citizens of Daein! Welcome to Nevassa Hall, residence of the royal family! For many of you, I am aware, this is your first time inside this magnificent structure, even those who by all means, should be well acquainted.” He aimed this last remark at some of the more recent upstart nobility, such as Archduke Balmer, or Baron Maijin. Neither had held their new position for more than a single moon, having only gained them through sheer cunning, rather than right of inheritance. Just how their king liked it.

Ashnard grandly announced, “Why have I invited you here, you may ask? Well, I had best let my son explain.” He raised one massive spiked glove as a signal for the grand double doors behind him to open. General Tauroneo, as well as his nephew whose name Ashnard had not learned as of yet, rushed to do as their king bid. 

Out the pair of silver doors strode three people; Prince Pelleas of Daein, the newly eighteen-year-old heir to the throne, his mother Queen Almedha, daughter of the Dragon King, and Daein’s royal chancellor Izuka. Pelleas was dressed in a startling white cape, underneath which he wore his standard red and purple noble attire. A fresh head of vibrant purple hair topped his youthful head, contrasted with his mother’s luscious black locks and his father’s close-cropped dark blue hair. This made Ashnard suspect he was the result of adultery, but he cared little for if that was the case. He loved Pelleas like a son, and was eager as he would be with any other boy to mold him into the continuation of his bloody legacy. 

Almedha donned a standard black veil, which made her resemble a widow in mourning. Funny, really. She had lost no-one close to her for decades, and yet she still chose to look as if she was attending a funeral, even on the very day that her son came of age.

Meanwhile, the old and withered Izuka limped behind the two others with the help of his cane. His hair was a dusty grey, dotted with black, and a purple robe surrounded him so that none else of him could be seen. A suspicious look filled his eyes, and his eyesight was going, so he sported a monocle over his right eye. 

Pelleas was a shy and soft-spoken boy, seemingly incapable of raising his voice to much beyond an excited exclamation. Thus, when he first tried to announce, “As of today, I am eighteen. I have become a man.” he failed miserably in projecting the message. The front row of guests nodded in understanding, whereas the rest were either straining to hear the prince or talking confusedly amongst each other. 

Ashnard, frustrated by this development, shouted at the top of his lungs, in his most barbaric voice, for quiet. His guests responded immediately and effectively, fearing their king’s legendary wrath. He then boomed, “On this day, Prince Pelleas is eighteen years of age! He is now officially of age!” 

The seated guests then expectedly broke into a large round of applause, many cheering and sending their regards to an abashed Prince Pelleas. 

Ashnard, however, was not finished. “As a full adult, Pelleas needs a bride. On this, I believe, we can agree. But, who to choose? I only wish the strongest woman to marry my Pelleas! He needs a strong woman to keep him on his toes!” He then paused for the staged laughter from his audience. Notably, none of the three people behind him found his joke funny. 

Then, he continued, “Thus, I will be holding a contest to decide, open to all! Two hundred and forty of this nation’s finest maidens will enter, and over five days, they will slay themselves down to one; the strongest maiden in Daein!”

This proclamation seemed to shock most everyone in the room speechless, including Pelleas and Almedha. Izuka, along with the Four Riders and a select few others, knew their king well enough that his behaviour was perfectly expected. 

A messenger then scurried onto Ashnard’s elevated platform and reported that the massive amount of food he had ordered prepared was ready. The announcement, once again made in Ashnard’s harsh roar, prompted excited discussion and cheers from the previously shell-shocked audience. 

The four people on the platform descended from their elevated status and sat themselves around the head table. Ashnard sat at the head, for obvious reasons. His queen and prince took his left and right, respectively. The Four Riders of Daein were next; Bryce, Petrine, Lanvega, and the Black Knight, in that order. 

Bryce was the oldest of the four by a good margin, and also the one who had spent the longest as a member of Daein’s top generals. He had served Ashnard’s father faithfully, and the current king knew that the same would apply to him. Petrine was much younger, a rising star in his forces, coming from a common origin to become one of the most powerful people in the nation. Lanvega was the aged governor of Marado, a province of Daein. And the Black Knight, so called because he was constantly clad in a full set of heavy black armour, was a mysterious newcomer, having only appeared in Ashnard’s court three years ago and permanently wounded Tauroneo to take his spot. 

Izuka, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen. Evidently, the old man had no need for food. Ashnard never ceased to be amazed by how his advisor, who had served his grandfather and had to be over ninety at this point, continued to survive while barely eating. I suppose he has his own ways. 

One person was profoundly out of place at the head table, however; a man looking to be in his early to mid-thirties. He had long flowing dark brown, almost black hair, almost enough for one to mistake him as a flat-chested woman. He had electric blue eyes of a shade Ashnard had never seen on anyone until then. He had a rough cloth robe covering him, but white silk poked out of this disguise in several places, giving away that he was of more wealth than he wished to appear.

Ashnard testily asked the table, “Who is this man? I gave him no right to be sitting at this table.” 

The man calmly replied, “Consider me a companion of the Black Knight.” The Black Knight, eh? Interesting… Then, Ashnard felt a flash of recognition. 

“Ah, yes. Your disguise does not fool me, Sephiran, Duke of Persis and Prime Minister of Begnion. What brings you here?” Truthfully, it had fooled the shrewd king, but for a short time. To be fair, it was an excellent disguise if one ignored the fact that his coarse robes were torn and he was wearing a more standard outfit for one of his rank beneath it. 

Sephiran only raised a single eyebrow in response. Whether this meant he was genuinely off his guard or not was unknown. He could possibly have been extremely talented at hiding his emotions, or genuinely unfazed by his cloak of poverty being discovered. 

The Black Knight interceded in Sephiran’s defense, “Yes, you are correct. He is here at my behest. I beg of you not to cast him out.” His towering helmet obscured the entirety of his face, but Ashnard imagined him smirking under the piece of armour. The sarcasm and mocking humility in his tinned tone made something of that nature clear. 

Ashnard guffawed. “Brilliant, my talented lieutenant! You have friends in Begnion! Now that is a battle I would like to wage!” He clapped his hands loudly, causing the candle nearest him to blow out. “You have done admirably if you wish to unseat me, General. I wish you luck, however, with my knowledge of your surprise guest.” Ashnard tolerated and even encouraged coup attempts of this nature within his court, all of which had previously failed miserably. This was the expected outcome, of course. If he was not strong enough to keep his throne, he deserved to be tossed from it, like manure into a cart, and replaced by someone who was. 

Sephiran calmly stated with a knowing smile, “He is attempting nothing of the like. After all, if he was, he would not reveal my presence to you.” He calmly sipped at the wineglass one of the kitchen staff had provided. Cheap glass, of course, with the fine crystal reserved for the royal family. 

“Of course, of course. What are you doing here, then?” 

“I was invited by my friend here, and I wanted to know what Daein is like in this day. I have not seen this kingdom since you, Ashnard, were a young man, and you, Pelleas, only a baby.” Pelleas flushed and looked away at the mention. 

Then, he stared in Petrine’s direction. “I have not seen you before. I can only presume you are the replacement for Sir Gawain.” Ashnard instinctively flinched at the mention. “What, perchance, has happened to Gawain anyway?” 

Ashnard made sure, intentionally or not, Sephiran knew that he had hit a sore spot. He pounded the wooden table with his fist, nearly causing it to buckle under the force and shaking the assorted meals set on it violently. Those who knew flinched, while those who apparently did not appeared startled. 

Bryce intervened on his king’s behalf, for he would be able to tell the story in a much saner manner. “Sir Gawain is… indisposed, one might say. He fled our court with his wife and infant son twenty years ago. He also stole a medallion, one of our most sacred treasures. I could not tell you what is particularly sacred about it, but Izuka, I know, is quite knowledgeable about the matter.”

Sephiran seemed surprised at Bryce’s lack of knowledge. “Are you referring to Lehran’s Medallion?” His question was met with a communal shrug. Nobody at the table seemed to know for sure, except for Queen Almedha. 

Almedha leaned over and whispered in Ashnard’s ear, “May I speak, my king?” 

Ashnard responded quietly, or rather, quietly by his standards, which still translated into a quite audible pitch, “Yes, you may, my dear queen.” The last part was clearly a formality, for Ashnard held little affection for his wife, and he made this fact quite known. 

Almedha affectionately nipped her husband’s ear and then withdrew. She told Sephiran, “I believe that is the case. A powerful artifact of dark magic, that.” 

“Yes, indeed. It is rumoured to contain the soul of the dark goddess Yune herself. It is said that if the continent of Tellius is to all go to war, then the goddess shall be released and wreak havoc upon the world. That, or if the galdr of release is sung by one of the few remaining beings who know how to do such a thing.” He was of course referring to the herons, who had been nearly hunted to extinction, possibly completely. 

Hmm… if the entire continent is at war… wreak havoc upon the world… Ashnard was gaining some very wicked ideas. First, however, he needed that medallion back. That could be saved for later, however. Pelleas’ marriage was more important. 

That, and he had a massive platter of meat, a whole ox, in front of him to eat. Almedha, the ravenous dragon princess, similarly had another ox to sustain her. The king and queen’s faces were most entirely obscured by their enormous meal. Pelleas’ plate, however, only consisted of a simple salad. This could not do; he was malnourished enough as is. 

“Pelleas, you must eat heartily if you wish to perform for your future bride!” The table, minus Almedha and Pelleas, broke into a round of polite laughter. Ashnard followed this by carving a large slice off of his ox with a cleaver and dropping it on his son’s plate, burying his salad. 

Pelleas sighed and began to eat. All things considered, it looked to be a wonderful night, with much reason to celebrate. 

It was many hours after the raucous celebrations, and the royal couple had both eaten and drank more than any truly mortal man would be able to survive; being a dragon, Almedha needed to consume vast amounts of food and drink to keep her health, and Ashnard was similar, given his massive frame. 

Almedha had stripped down to a thin black veil that left little to the imagination; she had aged much more gracefully than one would normally expect of a woman, being a laguz. Meanwhile, Ashnard stood completely nude. Almedha clung to her husband and asked seductively, “Would you like to perform your royal duties tonight?” She punctuated her point by dragging her reptilian tongue across his cheek. 

Almedha let out a low moan as she licked again, and a third time. Ashnard’s patience for this wore thin quickly, and he tossed his wife back onto their shared bed. He had no desire to mate with her, especially not in the typical dragon style. It was simply alien to him, how females of that species were aroused by being savaged in such a way. When humans did that, it was a sign of domination and probable sadism. For dragons, apparently it was a symbol of love. 

Ashnard swept around to the other side of the bed and settled himself in, taking about two thirds of the resting place. He had much to think about, and his wife was involved in precisely none of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware the perspective switches sometimes from third to first person. That's meant to represent the characters' thoughts.


	2. The Fall of Crimea

The plains outside Fort Pinell were swamped with Daein soldiers, both Ashnard and Pelleas among them. This was not the Crimean capital, nor even the largest city in the neighbouring country, but it was the first area where Daein could expect to face serious armed resistance. 

The black-clad armies of Daein had stormed across the Riven Bridge with ease, and since then, the Crimeans had made no serious effort to oppose them. This, Ashnard knew, would change this day. And he was positively overjoyed at the thought. Ah, yes! March to your doom! We shall see, Ramon, how your kingdom of ‘peace’ and ‘prosperity’ fares against the battle-hardened armies of Daein! 

Ashnard was seated upon his fierce black dragon mount, an excellent point from which to survey the battlefield that was soon to be painted with Crimean blood. The armies of King Ramon had rallied themselves astonishingly quickly, at a much greater speed than anyone from Daein could have expected. Oh, well. What is an invasion without thrill and challenge? 

The Four Riders were at Ashnard’s command, to order as he liked, with their elite units of cavalry and infantry alike. At least, in principle. Their king fully expected at least two of them to defy their orders, in part or in whole. He did not care. As long as are victorious, I care not of the casualties. If they are truly worthy of serving this great army, they will survive. 

Ashnard gleefully ordered his troops into their assigned positions. “Shiharam.” The red-haired wyvern rider swooped to his lord’s side. “The wyvern corps are to distract the Crimean archers and mages from my ground troops. Do not attack them if you wish to live. If you have been competently trained, I am sure you will survive.” This first step was vital for increasing the effectiveness of the latter two. 

Shiharam obediently bowed. “Yes, my king.” Then, with a shout, he ordered his aerial troops to form up. The Crimeans had no air fighters of their own, doubling the wyverns’ effectiveness.

With the air offense dealt with, Ashnard turned to his Four Riders. “Black Knight, you will lead the heavy infantry and shatter their front line. Petrine, Lanvega, you are to split the cavalry in half and mow every last man down where he stands.” It was a simple battle strategy, but hopefully an effective one. With the sheer quality of Daein’s troops, it would not matter that they were fighting a literal uphill battle. 

The Black Knight wordlessly nodded and slowly marched to battle, weighty armour clanking loudly and the earth shaking beneath him with every step he took. No doubt he planned to disobey Ashnard’s orders in whole or in part. One could just tell when another had a certain rebellious spirit about them, and the top general certainly fulfilled those criteria. Plus, he had connections in Begnion! That would be quite the thrilling challenge! 

Meanwhile, Petrine and Lanvega, the two cavaliers, were more vocal. The balding man, sweat already forming on his near-bare head, nodded affirmatively. “The only issue I have, my king, is how we are to not outpace your armoured friend.” He gestured with his head to the armoured knight and his army, who had scarcely moved twenty metres. It would take some time for that part of the plan to come to fruition, unfortunately. 

Petrine mirthfully laughed, more like a bark than a laugh, really. “Damned right! The son of a whore sure can’t walk!” She unsheathed her fiery lance from her hip, which promptly lit up, right on time for Crimean soldiers to suffer underneath its cruel grasp. 

“Sounds good to me, King. I’m ready to skewer some Crimean bastards on a spit!” She mockingly jabbed her spear into the air, raising the temperature around her and her horse ever so slightly. Her dark green hair flew in the light breeze, blowing into her sour face. She spat out a piece of hair before eagerly licking her lance. How she was able to do that without immediately recoiling, Ashnard did not know. Perhaps she was unable to feel pain. That would explain much. 

Bryce, the only remaining Rider, looked to Ashnard in confusion. “What am I to do, my King?”

Bryce was approaching too old of an age to enter battle, and more importantly, Ashnard had a special role in mind for his oldest general. “You are to protect my son against any threats that may arise through the battle. As beloved as he is, I do not think he can fend off Crimean soldiers on his own.” That was more of an insult than Pelleas realized, given his low opinions of that country’s soldiers. 

Pelleas bashfully agreed. The boy had a very accurate knowledge of his own talents, or rather, lack thereof. It was nothing that could not be fixed, of course, but for now, he needed a bodyguard.

Bryce looked far from pleased, but there was little to be done. To be fair, Bryce never looked pleased. He reluctantly grumbled, “That can be done, Your Majesty.”

And so, the Battle of Fort Pinell began. The Crimean archers were spending most of their time trying to shoot down Daein’s wyvern troops, which left them unable to defeat the armoured units. It was not as if they had a chance anyway; There were no exploitable cracks in Daein’s armour. The mages, on the other hand, Ashnard greatly appreciated being otherwise occupied. Any physical fighter did not remotely fancy being hit by a spell. 

It was time for the cavalry to charge; the line of spearmen that was supposed to stop such an attack had been broken, was routing. Hmph. Crimean cowards. A Daeinite would never flee before an enemy army. And thus, the carnage began. Ashnard took flight, in order to take it all in with his own storm-grey eyes. 

The cavalry easily rode down the fleeing spearmen, trampling them, impaling them, the like. Unfortunately, Ashnard was unable to see the action up close in all its gory details. That, he supposed, was the price of staying out of the action. 

At this point, however, he contemplated joining the melee. One man, no, actually two men, were burned alive at the point of Petrine’s lance. He could hear the glorious screams from his position, high in the air. Men had their throats slashed, their heads crushed, their stomachs sliced, their limbs mutilated. Oh, the sights of battle. I believe I might have to partake. 

Just when Ashnard made to swoop down and enter the fray, he was struck by an arrow. He felt no pain, only the dull thud of his heavy shoulder plate being pierced. He instinctively reached towards the arrow with his hand and yanked it out. It was surprisingly difficult. What Ashnard saw absolutely puzzled and delighted him. 

The arrow was tipped in red. Not a lot, but some. The normally brown wooden tip was stained with a singular spot of red. This was absolutely fascinating. Not in a long time, certainly not since he had donned his armour, had a single combatant managed to wound him before. Interesting. Very interesting. 

Ashnard’s gaze swept over the combatants, increasingly fewer of whom were Crimean. Then, he searched for archers, Crimean archers in specific. 

Ashnard went into a dive at the Crimean forces, and in the midst of doing so, he found his assailant, the only one who stayed focused on attacking the enemy, rather than running for their pathetic lives. 

A woman that donned a head of fiery red hair and a stern expression on her face. She was incredibly slim, to the point where it was a wonder she managed to pull the bow at all. She was in fact, doing so again, loading another arrow in her bow. Ashnard easily dodged the resulting arrow, now that he was prepared for it, but the effort was impressive. 

Terrified screams and shouts rang out from the Crimeans when they were shadowed by Ashnard’s mount. Two, in fact, were crushed by the overgrown dragon’s enormous weight. Their heads burst with a satisfying splat, and their ribcages caved in as well. 

Rajaion roared, startling more soldiers into retreating, like the cowards they were. Only this sole woman stood her ground. Ashnard bashed the hilt of his gigantic sword into the dragon’s head to prevent it breathing fire. 

Ashnard swept his sword in a line, decapitating three women and unfortunately killing them instantly. He cleaved his sword down in an arc, and split a crippled man’s skull in two. Brains and blood stained the serrated edge, both of which soon slid off. All of this was to access the woman who’d wounded him, even slightly. 

To her credit, she stood her ground against the imposing king. Ashnard supposed she had already made her peace with death. But he had so much more planned for her. Aside from the shock of red hair she sported on top of her head, she was profoundly plain in appearance, with a practically nonexistent chest. But he did not care. 

Ashnard smacked her next arrow aside, chipping one of the spikes on his glove, and used his other hand to grasp her throat. He chortled evilly, “You have courage, woman. Perhaps I could find a use for you.” 

She struggled against his ironclad grasp, before finally seeming to realize he had no interest in killing her. She went limp in his hand, struggling to speak. I may as well honour this request. She poses no threat to me, after all. She was thrown roughly to the ground, taking up to a minute to recover her air supply sufficiently to speak. “Do what you will, you monster. You will never break me. Never!” 

“We shall see about that.” Ashnard’s evil gloating was interrupted by the sounds of clanking. He glanced over to see the Black Knight approaching him, holding a severed head. It carried a fine kelp-green beard, and the life had obviously left its black eyes. It seems as if I have succeeded, King Ramon. I wish you well in the afterlife, my… adversary? No, that would lend you far too much credit. My ever so noble victim. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was exactly five days after the Battle of Fort Pinell, from which the Daein army had emerged supreme, and the thirty thousand strong force stood at the gates of Melior Castle, which stubbornly remained closed. There was, of course, a simple solution to this, and Pelleas knew it would be the only one his bloodthirsty father would ever consider taking. 

King Ashnard raised one spiked glove in signal, and the power of a thousand mages slammed against the wooden gates, causing them to explode near-instantly. Wooden splinters danced across the sky as a bonfire began, square in the entrance of the castle. Surprisingly, no troops came to attack the invaders. I thought they would be more eager to defeat us than this. Perhaps they are simply out of men? 

Regardless, the Black Knight led the way in the effort to storm the castle, armour screeching loudly, along with that of the rest of the heavy infantry. Or at least, the ones privileged enough to enter the castle; only a scarce hundred had been permitted to go, because by Ashnard’s logic, they were all that was needed. Petrine tapped her foot impatiently outside, no doubt wondering when her cavalry would get to storm in and wreak havoc. 

Pelleas had always hated Petrine and her way of doing things, and was deeply disappointed that his father not only condoned but encouraged it. He was glad she would not get to participate in this ‘battle.’ At least those Crimean soldiers, few as there are, can die quickly. 

Pelleas intended on staying outside for the capture of the Crimean capital, or rather, its castle, for the city proper had already been seized yesterday. The young prince suspected most of the Crimean army had died in that offensive, which was why a deafening quiet soon arose from the castle. No shouting, or metal clashing against metal. Pure silence. 

The attack was over before Ashnard could make up his mind on whether to join in, leaving the king with a rather discontented expression on his face. He dismounted Rajaion, leaving the entirety of Daein’s wyvern corps to restrain the infamously feral beast, and strode inside, sword in hand. 

Pelleas was interrupted in his solitude by a gentle tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, he spotted General Bryce, gloved hand firmly placed on him. The stoic caretaker said, “I believe your father wishes you inside the castle. I shall come with you as well, do not worry.” That is meant to be reassuring, I suppose. Thus, he nodded and set off the short distance from Daein’s army encampments to the interior of Castle Melior. 

When Pelleas and Bryce stepped into the throne room, it held some rather gruesome decorations. Corpses, men and women alike, some headless, some split in half, horizontally and/or vertically. Others had been disemboweled, or hung on spears sticking into the walls. Bryce stepped on a loose liver with his armoured boot, which promptly burst, staining the already filthy carpet. Pelleas carefully stepped around the mess. 

More gruesome sights awaited beyond those, so grisly that Pelleas could not keep his eyes on them. Free-rolling eyes littered the tiled floors. Several disembodied limbs laid strewn across the ground. The floor, which Pelleas guessed was supposed to be white, was coloured blood-red. 

There was only one Crimean man still standing in the throne room; Pelleas recognized him as Duke Renning, heir to the throne. A stern-faced man with a slight green beard, he faced Ashnard, lance aloft. He has to know how foolish he is to oppose Father, does he not? 

Ashnard was ‘saved’ from the ‘effort of defeating Renning himself by his top general, who threw his lance, the legendary Wishblade, into his leg. The limb was shattered, and Renning was forced to take a knee beneath Ashnard’s oppressive shadow. Bryce marched up to the crippled fighter and held the lance responsible to his throat. 

Ashnard gloated, “Ah, yes, kneel before me. I am sure Izuka will be able to heal your injury soon. I am counting on it, in fact.” 

Renning lowered his head, humbled. “Spare my life, Ashnard, and I will make no trouble. My life and that of my kingdom.” Ah, yes. He is technically the king now. I do pity him. 

Ashnard chortled. “I suppose that can be done. It does not matter to me, but no sense wasting perfectly fine blood.” He lowered a hand to his defeated opponent’s chin and flicked his head back. Renning growled as Bryce dragged him away. 

Bryce reprimanded his prisoner, “Please try to keep a dignified front, for your own sake.” Then, he looked back to Pelleas. “I suppose you will be fine with your father, my prince?” 

Pelleas swallowed and reluctantly nodded. He knew that his father posed no threat to him. He certainly meant his son no harm. What he could do indirectly, on the other hand… His answer to Bryce’s query was reaffirmed by Ashnard stalking up and wrapping his arm around him. The scales on his armour rubbed up uncomfortably on Pelleas’ fair skin. 

Ashnard cheerily told his son, “I have a task for you, my son. It is time for you to enter the next stage of your adulthood.” He gestured to a pair of Daein soldiers, who came very quickly, holding a Crimean prisoner. 

It was at this time that Pelleas realized there had been many prisoners of the defeated nation, lined up in a row behind him. He supposed that was his own fault for being unobservant. Only one, however, mattered at the moment. 

He was a very young man, with curly brown hair. His sideburns were also coloured a light brown, and he carried no facial hair. This is a boy, not a man. Similar to me, I suppose. 

Ashnard ordered, “Kill him. You know how.” His voice was altogether much too excited at the prospect of death via dark magic, although at this point, Pelleas had no right to be surprised. Pelleas knew exactly what he needed to do. He hated it, but he saw no other option. It was either this, or be branded a coward. I am a coward at heart. But I cannot let that be known. 

Pelleas pulled a dark magic tome out of his tan and yellow robe and flipped it open to an early page. He focused intensely on the thought of this man dying. Ironically, he needed to think of more intense pain to power up the spell and ensure that this man’s death would be quick. Still painful, but quick. 

Tendrils of pure blackness reached out from the tome and latched onto the prisoner, wrapping around his head and neck. One impaled him in the stomach, and two more tied his already bound arms. Then the screams began. 

By the goddess Ashera, the screams. The prisoner screamed in immense pain, startling even the guards who held him, and eventually sickening them. Pelleas could see them holding back vomit. Ashnard stood behind them with a massive evil grin on his face. He was somehow enjoying this. 

The unfortunate victim’s skin turned grey as the life was sucked out of him, absorbed into the tome, and by extension, into Pelleas himself. Vitality flowed through the prince, very much against his wishes, and he could not help feeling good, turning up the power. No! No, No, NO! The screams had long stopped at this point, but they continued inside their perpetrator’s own head.

It pained Pelleas greatly, but he slammed the book shut prematurely, leaving a corpse in his wake. Not even a recognizably human corpse, either; its skin had lost all life, shriveling up and tearing back, revealing the rotten flesh underneath. If there were any flies or maggots in the castle, Pelleas was sure they would be all over this. His bones had shrunk, leaving the rotten and blackened flesh to shrink and contract around him. He was hardly more than a ball of vaguely human parts. 

Ashnard clapped and cheered loudly. “My son has had his first kill! Here is to many more!” He raised one black steel glove into the air, and after a understandable delay, the soldiers in the room saluted and cheered Pelleas on. What have I done? I truly am a monster, like the dark mages of old. Why did I have to be born with this curse?! No, I am not like those others. But am I? I killed that man in cold blood, in the most painful way possible. And I enjoyed it. I am growing into my father. 

Pelleas, after going through the proper ceremony of crowning Ashnard the King of Crimea, retreated into the unknown outside to think and stew in his own hatred. His mother and Izuka had stayed at the capital, so aside from Ashnard, he was completely alone. And all could agree that the King of two kingdoms was absolutely horrendous at comforting anyone who disagreed with his pathos.

Unfortunately, he also managed to get himself lost in a network of tunnels underneath the Crimean capital. Thankfully, he was able to snag a torch off of a wall to use as light, as his tome would be exactly no help in providing such light. 

The ambience of the tunnels had a profound effect on Pelleas’ mental state; perhaps it was his nervous disposition, perhaps it was his tome feeding his paranoia, but he grew extremely anxious. Fear crept up on him, the fear of possibly being ambushed by some unmentionable something, something that had its origin in one of these deep, dark tunnels. 

All throughout the tunnels, there were no torches lining the walls. A slim circle around Pelleas was the only protection he carried from the creeping darkness. The prince’s head darted from side to side, fearfully searching the background for threats. He found none, and yet he continued to worry. 

Pelleas emerged into a dimly lit room, which was quite refreshing, compared to the unlit halls of the tunnels. He scanned the room to see it was circular. No exit was apparent. He sighed and acknowledged he would have to turn back, only to hear a scratching sound. 

Pelleas nearly jumped out of his cloak. What is that? He was hyper-alert as he carefully scanned the room, one step at a time. All manner of beasts or other dangerous things could have been making that sound; hated it as he did, Pelleas was extremely glad for the companionship of his dark tome. 

It seemed, at least, that said dark tome would be unnecessary, for the scratching turned out to come from a rather harmless-looking girl. 

Long green hair flowed down her back, a back that was covered by a relatively plain dress of orange and tan. She shouted in pain as she dragged her hands along the wall, frantically searching for a way out. 

The light must have startled the girl, for she whipped around quicker than Pelleas could have imagined, and he was able to behold her in all her beauty. 

A scared expression twisted an innocent and youthful face. A pair of soft burgundy eyes were staring directly at him, fear shining through them. A headband ran around her forehead, or at least it had, as it had now fallen; one end rested over her ear. Now that Pelleas saw her, he was able to recognize her for who she was; Princess Elincia Ridell Crimea. Well, ah, this is awkward… The Prince of Daein had just fallen in love with Princess Crimea.

Elincia hurried away from Pelleas before he thought to call out to her, to calm her. Of course she would be scared; she recognizes you. You must calm her first. 

Pelleas called out, “Elincia! I have no intention to hurt you! Please, stand still!” He did his best to let his true benevolent feelings shine through, and he did at least succeed in freezing the Princess in place. 

It was only then that he noticed the bloody streaks on the wall where Elincia had just been kneeled in defeat. He moved his gaze to her fingers, which showed the marks of frantic attempts to escape. The skin had been rubbed raw from her fingertips, and blood dripped onto the floor of hard-packed dirt.

Pelleas put all the concern he could muster into his voice as he approached Elincia, very slowly, one step at a time. “Elincia, I will not try to hurt you. Just… stay. Your fingers… I need to take care of your fingers.” Until now, the princess had apparently not noticed what she had done to her fingers. Upon looking down, she yelped in shock and pain. 

Pelleas closed the distance between the two of them in two steps and loosely grasped Elincia’s soft hands. She jolted at his touch, but quickly mellowed when it became clear the prince meant her no harm. He softly asked her, “Is it all right if I hold your hands like this? I just want to wipe the blood off of them. And, perhaps, to bandage them.” 

Elincia flushed pink and muttered something under her breath. Upon realizing that Pelleas hadn’t heard her, she spoke louder. “Yes, Pelleas, you may.” So she did recognize him. He could completely understand why she was so scared of him; she thought he would turn her in to his father, or perhaps do even worse before then. He had no intent of doing any of that; why would he to the woman he had just fallen in love with?

While he held Elincia steady with one hand, he bunched up his robe in the other and started to gently wipe the blood off her fingertips. He cared not that it stained the fine fabric a dark red, for that was a miniscule price to pay in exchange for Elincia’s comfort. In a move that Pelleas expected was involuntary, Elincia let out the tiniest of giggles as his soft fabric glided over her fingers. She blushed immediately after, further reinforcing this idea. 

“Now…” Pelleas asked himself under his breath, “what do I have for a bandage?” His robe, more like a very heavy cape on further inspection, would be too obvious; his father and those around the court would ask questions. Then it came to him: he would use the pages of his book. They were harmless when separated from their mother tome, and nobody would care that the weapon was missing two extra pages.

Pelleas flipped open his tome, causing Elincia to flinch and back away. The prince then realized what it looked like he was about to do. He reassured Elincia, almost like he was speaking to a child, “I am not going to hurt you. This is to bandage your fingers.” Then, he forcefully ripped two pages out of his dark tome. 

Elincia let Pelleas approach her again and gently wrap the pages around her bloodied hands, which had already begun to bleed again, if much more slowly. Her newly bandaged fingers clung to him as she asked, “What are you going to do with me, Pelleas?” She sounded as if she was already resigned to the worst possibility. 

“Why, I am going to help you escape, and in the process, help myself get back to the castle.” He did not wish to admit he was lost, so he stopped there. 

Elincia’s eyes widened in surprise. “W-Wh-Why would you do that? You are the Prince of Daein.” 

Pelleas responded with a gentle smile. “Because I am in love with you, Princess. I do not expect to have you, but I do not care.” He slowly ran a single finger through her long hair and placed his other hand on her shoulder. 

Elincia looked quite surprised by this answer. Instead of replying, she nodded. She then accepted his generous offer. “Let us escape, then.” 

Of course, when Pelleas did not want to find Daein troops, they were around every corner, it seemed. They were nowhere to be found when he needed them, but now, they littered the tunnels beneath Melior. The two royals had to sneak past over a dozen Daein patrols on their way out of the tunnels. 

Neither of them had any idea where they had to go, but the torchlight from wandering Daein soldiers at least gave them some idea of where everyone else was going. It still took several hours, it felt like, to escape the vast tunnel network, as it likely would to tour the entirety of an actual city. 

Finally, Pelleas and Elincia reached a point where the wall exhibited a large crack. Moonlight shone in through it, showing that it did indeed lead outside. Elincia smiled for the first time at this.

Unfortunately, the space in between the two parts of the wall was not large enough to fit both of them comfortably. Pelleas could let Elincia ahead of him, or lead and let Elincia come behind him, but he was very reluctant to do either of those. He would be safe, no matter what happened. She would absolutely not be. 

Thus, they had to go through together, awkward as that may be. Elincia clung extremely closely to Pelleas on the brief walk through the wall, causing him to flush. He also felt himself hardening under his robes, making it even worse. He prayed the princess could not see him like this. 

After a few seconds, they were outside. Elincia broke her grip on Pelleas and thanked him with a curtsey. “Thank you, Prince Pelleas. I will not forget this, for all my life.” A hollow promise, considering her odds of survival, but a meaningful one nonetheless. 

Pelleas smiled to return Elincia’s own. “Wait. I have one last favour to ask of you, before you leave. I may never see you again, my first love. I only ask for a kiss, before you retreat into the night.” 

“Oh.” Elincia blushed deeply. “I… this would be my first kiss. I suppose, if I must…” Oh, dear… She thought she would be forced into it if she wished to escape. Pelleas had seemingly confirmed her fears by being so bold. This was the one thing he dearly wished to prevent. 

Pelleas urgently reassured Elincia, “No, you have the wrong idea. As I said earlier, I do not expect to have you, nor do I expect you to return my feelings. You are free to run into the night, if you wish to do so, and ignore my affections.” He would have continued, but he was interrupted by Elincia throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

Pelleas instinctively threaded his fingers through Elincia’s luxurious hair, dirty though it may have been, and pulled her head closer to his. She broke through his lips with her tongue, a surprising move to which he passionately responded. She stood on the tips of her toes as she stayed intertwined with her new and very brief partner. He had to resist the urge to swing her in the air, for he knew they would not be kissing long or again. Her hands slipped around his neck as she tightened her grip on him. She is far more eager than I could have dreamed of. And then she will leave, likely forever… 

The two of them eventually broke away from each other, gasping for air and blushing heavily. Elincia muttered, “It is probably best if I leave.” That was true, for Pelleas’ lust could very well overcome his better judgement if she stayed. “Goodbye, Pelleas.” 

With a heavy heart, Pelleas watched Elincia sprint into the woods, knowing that he was likely never to be as close to her as he was before that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I am not shipping Pelleas/Elincia. That bit at the end was just for funsies. And yes, I am playing with canon a bit. See if you can spot the differences.


	3. Let The Games Begin

Twenty-one of the most prominent nobles in Crimea, plus a certain someone extra; Dakova, a low-ranking officer under General Petrine. His presence served two functions. First, he was to ensure all the combatants stuck to the rules. It would bore the audience massively if no blood was shed for minutes, possibly hours, on end, and all of the nobles had to starve to death. Second, it was a punishment for letting Princess Elincia escape; Petrine had insisted on executing her subordinate in this ignoble way. 

The sheer irony was enough to make Ashnard laugh and laugh until he ran out of air; he had ordered Dakova and his men to let the princess escape, but his subordinate would hear none of the unlucky knight’s excuses. Thus, he had committed no crime, but was stuck in this bloody battle royale anyway. If he is strong enough, he will leave alive. If he is not, there is a free spot in the army. We win either way. 

The audience consisted of very few Daein nobles, for how large it was. The Four Riders were almost the only major members of the privileged class to be in attendance. A few minor nobles, Daein and Crimean turncloaks alike, sat in the top rows, but it was local Crimean workers that had gathered in great numbers. The word had been spread far and wide by a whole host of messengers, and there was no price to come and watch other than one’s time. With the recent invasion and complete upheaval of their home country, many poor Crimeans could afford to spare one or two days from their busy schedules. 

It was not a privilege one received often, or indeed, ever, to watch the surviving nobles of your nation, the elites that had oppressed you for all these years, tear each other apart in a bloody rage. A great storm of carnage was soon to descend upon this stadium in the capital, and Ashnard shared his audience’s feelings; he was almost unbearably excited. 

Of the nobles, Duke Renning, brother of the now-former king Ramon, was just about the only recognizable one of the bunch, at least to Daein eyes. He was a very strong bet to win the games, but Ashnard was drawing no conclusions prematurely. He had special plans for the winner of this game, and a special technique Izuka had been begging him for permission to try…

Of course, Ashnard himself was the only one fit to announce the beginning of the bloodbath. “You know the rules: these twenty-one nobles, and our selfless enforcer, will tear each other apart until only one remains, no matter how battered they may be! Begin!” He had no grand speech prepared for the moment, nor did he want to proclaim one. He was far too impatient for that; the spectre of rampant bloodshed stood in front of him like a divine seductress, completely nude. He had no intention of holding himself back any longer. 

The participating nobles anxiously circled one another, all waiting for the first to pounce. Of course they would be like this. They are all from the same nation, and I have just given them an enemy to unite against. Dakova, your help would be greatly appreciated. 

Dakova was meant to strike the first blow if nobody else would. It was a common trend, Ashnard found, with these sorts of games: very few people were willing to strike the first blow, but after the first person died, the others suddenly became much more liberal about killing each other. 

Sure enough, Dakova ran his lance through the stomach of his first victim, some sort of priest, Ashnard vaguely recalled. He was so fat that, when the spear came out the other side of his stomach, it burst, his organs spilling around the gaping wound as the life drained from him unfairly quickly. 

Dakova was soon mobbed by six other men, who ended him quickly and extremely painfully. Every participant in that arena was a man, if only because the Crimeans were comically incompetent at training their women in combat. That did seem to be a recurring feature, even in Daein, where they could theoretically succeed; most did not, and the ranks of the army were overwhelmingly staffed by men. 

When they were done, Dakova had barely a skeleton left to witness. His skull had been broken into many pieces and removed from the rest of his body, while his armour, riddled with holes, did nothing to stop the profuse bleeding coming from every orifice of the chest imaginable. The fragile metal container barely managed to stop him completely coming apart, although he still lost everything not encased in a protective plate shell. His arms and legs had been savagely torn off and tossed to the wind, landing with satisfying splats on the ground of soft sand. Ashnard’s only regret was not seeing the process unfold with his own eyes. 

The soft ground barrier between the tense prancing of noble weaklings and frenzied battle had eroded, and a tide of blood followed. 

The six killers of Dakova immediately turned in on each other, with excruciatingly satisfying results. One had their skull sheared in half by a sword, exposing the brain and downing him immediately. Another’s stomach was opened by the bitter blade of a different sword. The swordsman who had killed the first man was then shot in the back with an arrow. He died painlessly, I suppose. 

The rest of the stadium had burst into chaos as the other contestants attacked each other in a frenzy. Renning, the only person Ashnard particularly cared as to the fate of, was performing admirably as expected. He had been donned in a spear and shield, as well as a mobile suit of mail. There was no helmet atop his head; Ashnard had not wished to waste the material, and had thus skimped on armour for the twenty-one combatants. 

Renning threw his lance like a javelin and impaled one of the captive nobles; some sort of count, Ashnard recalled. Well, he was a count no more; his thirteen-year-old daughter had been placed in charge of his former lands. 

The duke of Delbray was unarmed at this time, but it did not seem to bother him much. Three other nobles leaped in to attack their unarmed rival: they likely realized he was a very dangerous man and decided to eliminate him quickly. 

This went poorly for them, predictably enough. All three were either fat or far too old to fight effectively. Even unarmed, the fit duke was able to outmaneuver his enemies easily enough. It also helped that he had starved all of them; the old ones deteriorated faster than the younger ones, and the fat ones would be going through withdrawal. That part was unintentional, however. 

Renning blocked the strike of one’s axe with his round steel shield, lodging the weapon inside the tempered metal. It smoothly slipped off his wrist, taking the axe with it as it fell to the ground. Now all he had was his body and a pair of armoured gauntlets. They may not have been spiked like Ashnard’s were, but they could do a lot of damage, as another attacker found out. A fist full of metal slammed into his face, breaking loose most of his teeth. Blood filled his mouth as he spat at Renning, unsuccessfully trying to blind him. 

The third attacker, meanwhile, had been beheaded by someone else, who had disappeared shortly after doing the dirty deed. Ah, clever boy. Or perhaps not; that man was likely a threat to nobody. This left only two, one of whom was badly bloodied from receiving several armoured punches to the face. To be honest, one could no longer call it a face at this point, with how it had been mutilated. 

Renning seemingly lacked the stomach to finish the job, leaving the poor man to bleed out, unconscious, on the ground. The first attacker dashed by to pick up his axe, only to slip on a large puddle of blood. Oh. I failed to notice that before. It must have been freshly spilled. 

Renning sprinted for his shield, yanking it away roughly from the fragile grip of the axeman. He then plucked the axe from the metal and embedded it in the old man’s chest. He was quite a slim one, so not much blood splashed out. In fact, the axe was buried in bone, a cracking sound coming from the upper chest area. He choked and spit up blood as he slowly died. No more attackers nearby, Renning picked up his lance from the body of the dead count, then walked back over and slit the decrepit old man’s throat. 

By this point, there were no more than eight fighters left, one of whom had just been shot full of arrows. So, seven, actually. 

A deadly dual swordsman was now chopping his way through the competitors, who were at least marginally more fit than before, the particularly grotesque ones having been slaughtered like pigs for butcher’s meat a long time ago. Now that Ashnard thought on it, that gave him a sick idea. If only more of the corpses were actually suitable to serve… I suppose Rajaion will enjoy this. 

“Enjoying the festivities, my king?” The snide voice of Archduke Balmer snuck its way into Ashnard’s ears as the irritating vassal made his way to stand beside the king. “I must say, the Crimean turnout for this event was surprising. What are you to do with the winner, anyway?” 

Ashnard bared a toothy grin at the upstart mage. “Oh, you will see. Perhaps speak to Chancellor Izuka about it, if you wish to hear the gory details.” 

Balmer profoundly did not wish to hear said gory details; that much was obvious. He awkwardly stuttered, “N-no, I will pass on your generous offer, thank you.” He coughed, apparently back in control. “A-anyway, Prince Pelleas wishes to see you, sir.” 

Oh, my son is here? I did not expect that. Perhaps my lessons are taking root faster than I could have dreamed. “Come here, son.” Ashnard had spotted the squeamish prince lurking behind him silently. 

Pelleas stood in front of Ashnard, distracting him from the conclusion of the melee in the pit. “I… I wanted to admit something. I was responsible for letting the Princess escape. I am so sorry, I know not what came over me-“ This was a lie, but Ashnard did not know that, nor did he truly care. He interrupted his son to tell him as much.

Ashnard casually waved his hand, as if in dismissal, or ordering his son to move, and responded, “Good. You were not meant to specifically, but someone had to, so I do not grudge them being you too heavily.” Pelleas bore a look of shock at this admission. Likely, he could not fathom why his father would intentionally make what seemed like such an obvious tactical blunder. However, there was more sense behind it than the prince knew, and Ashnard was keen on keeping it that way, at least for a time. 

Once he was undistracted, Ashnard turned his attentions back to the fighting, which was evidently not to last much longer. Only three participants were left standing, Renning being one of them.

The arena sported a new macabre set of decorations; the heads, limbs, and various other body parts of the newly deceased. A fresh coat of crimson paint adorned the bottoms of the walls, thankfully beneath the crowd’s seating, and the ground was soaked as much as it would have been had it rained for the last several hours.

The audience’s cheers slowly subsided as it became clear that the battles were over, with only one victor. Duke Renning Crimea, of Delbray. Ashnard was sure the high-ranking noble had a middle name, but he could not begin to guess at what it was. 

That said, Ashnard had a winner to greet. Thus, he leaped over the thin wooden barrier meant to keep him safe and landed hard on the ground. His legs fiercely resisted the urge to buckle underneath him, only his sheer strength keeping them intact. None of the people watching, except perhaps for Pelleas, would be aware of the willpower Ashnard was exerting in those few minutes to keep himself standing; they would see only their king, making a death-defying leap and making it look as simple as leaping from horseback. 

Izuka slowly made his way through the arena, long purple robe trailing behind him, soaking in blood and turning a burgundy hue.

Ashnard had no patience for his chancellor tarrying: he was all too eager to speak with Renning. “Congratulations, Duke. You have emerged victorious, and more importantly, alive.” In fact, there was barely a wound to be seen on Renning at all. A truly glorious success, perfect for the role he was planned to play. 

Renning growled threateningly at Ashnard. He must know there is no point. I am nigh-invincible, doubly so when I am expecting an assault. “Twenty of my peers had to die for me to do so. My victory shall be forever stained with their blood. Do not think I shall forget what you have done this day.” 

Renning levelled his lance at Ashnard’s stomach, only for the self-proclaimed Mad King of Daein to grab hold of it, a daring gleam taking hold of his eyes. It seemed to beg him to try it, for the results would be absolutely hilarious to see. Fear took root in the eyes of the captive Crimean, a delay, hesitancy. 

Whatever it was, he was still for long enough of a time for black tendrils to sprout out of the ground and restrain him. He struggled against them with all his might, like the struggles of a captured subhuman, in a futile attempt to escape his bonds. He should have known it was pointless, for Izuka was the strongest dark mage known on the continent. 

Izuka croaked out, “He is mine to experiment on, my king?” 

“Yes, Izuka! Do what I have bid you! Make this man inhuman! Raise him beyond the limits of this fragile shell!” He gestured to his own body and the many bodies around him.

Renning’s eyes lit up with what was definitely abject fear. He shouted, “What-what are you doing?! You said you would spare my life! Dishonourable cur! You will burn in-“ He was cut off by three more tentacles of darkness sealing his mouth shut as he was dragged off by Izuka. Why, Renning, I am nothing if not a man of my word. I will spare your life, just as I said. As for what I do to that life… I agreed to nothing of the sort. 

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Her name was Marie. Just Marie, nothing else. No surname for the Crimean commoner. Her family was one of hunters, but she doubted many of her colleagues cared much about her family’s former profession. As far as she knew, there was nobody else named Marie to confuse her with, so there was no need for a surname. 

Her hunter heritage had given her nearly unmatched talent with the bow, certainly more than any of the other young adults in her village of Mallemort. However well she performed in comparison to the other soldiers in the army, it was apparently well enough to catch the attention of King Ashnard of Daein himself. She would have preferred a heroic death on the field of battle. 

Her captors had been remarkably gentle to this prisoner of war: no hands had been laid on her in the fortnight she had been held captive. She suspected this was at the order of Ashnard himself, for he claimed a precious few fighters had ever managed to wound him before. She was proud to be part of that elite group, but she did not remotely fancy the consequences. She had been downright gorgeously treated by the standards she could have expected, staffed no less competently than any of the other participants in this competition. 

Two hundred and forty young women, or rather, two hundred and thirty-nine plus Marie herself, were being held in this cluster of rough-looking buildings. Over the next four days, they were to whittle themselves down to two, at which point Prince Pelleas would choose between those ‘lucky’ women for his bride. Marie was unsure which was worse; dying in this blood sport or winning it.

Marie, completely nude, checked herself in the opulent mirror that had been set in front of her. Her orange hair was still as off-colour as ever, simply a diluted red, a symptom of the lack of red-haired parents in the region. Her face was rather plain, unattractive even by some men’s standards, and dotted with freckles, which helped little. She had put on some weight since being captured, a lack of exercise and much more food than she was used to making her previously rail-thin body impossible to maintain. Not that she wished to maintain it: few women of her status did, although it did make hunting easier. Still far from fat, however, which would be absolutely vital in the coming days. 

The Tyrian purple curtain behind Marie rustled, and she frantically scampered from view, hastily snatching a dress to try on. Even if the denizens of this dressing room were all women, she didn’t care. She had always been attracted to women more than was perhaps acceptable, ever since she was a child. Her fellow villagers found her… unusual cravings very odd, but they accepted them well enough anyway. She lacked the same confidence in this batch of near-total strangers. 

“Hello? Marie? Anne wants to see you.” The gruff voice speaking would have been Helena’s: no other girl Marie knew had that deep of a voice. A very well-built lumberwoman from Daein, with long flowing black hair, Marie cursed her luck. She was the most attractive woman of the bunch by a comfortable margin, and also the one she would be most embarrassed to be seen by naked. 

Marie called to Helena, “Still changing! Tell Anne she can wait a bloody minute!” The much larger girl seemed to get the message very clearly, for one rustle of the curtain later, she was gone. This left the much smaller one to quickly pick out a dress. She chose a vibrant cobalt garment, the best to contrast with her dull orange hair. She wanted to make a stunning impression on the young prince, at least, if she wished to win. Everyone else will expect that of me, so I may as well live up to their expectations. It couldn’t hurt to be popular in this, even if she would have to kill many of these women soon. 

The girls were gathered outside the dressing room, eager to march off to the fancy dinner that had been set up in their honour. It took great valour to willingly sign yourself up for a death game with such long odds. Unless, of course, you had not been entered willingly at all, as was the case for Marie. Ashnard had forcibly entered her in this game, presumably because of the great strength he believed she possessed, and had given her no opportunity to take her own life. 

She felt powerless, having her weapons, her livelihood, in essence, taken from her. She was no good for much other than shooting a bow; she couldn’t even use any other weapons competently. Now Ashnard had taken that away from her, to spare either her or his guards from her well-demonstrated wrath. 

She supposed she was supposed to find validation in killing the other combatants, and she would, in a way. The question was, was it worth it in a trade for her humanity? Well, she supposed, there was little other option. 

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Elincia, exhausted, continued to sprint through a thick patch of trees. She was running in the general direction of Gallia, the beast kingdom and hopefully a friendly one. She had no idea whether the Laguz would welcome her, but it was her only option. She couldn’t stay in Crimea with Daein occupying it, and it was a very long way to Begnion, the only other human kingdom on the continent. 

She didn’t even know, truly, where she was going. She only knew that Gallia was southwest of Crimea, and she knew that was the direction she was going. If I… If I run for long enough, I’ll enter Gallia eventually? Isn’t that right? 

Her thoughts were a complete and utter mess, a tangle of thick vines, like she had heard were present in the beast kingdom, the very place she was fleeing to. But she had no time to reconsider. The Daein prince, Pelleas, had helped her escape. No, that was an understatement. He made her escape. If not for him, she almost certainly would have been lost in the tunnels under Melior until a Daein soldier happened upon her. Her life would have been forfeit then, even if by some miracle she was spared. 

By his word, he had fallen in love with her. Perhaps it was gradual, perhaps it was sudden… and Elincia had no idea what she was thinking, kissing him. Did she love him back? She didn’t know. She made that kiss of her own free will, so it was certainly possible… No. He is the prince of Daein, I cannot. 

A suitor, the fall of her kingdom, the death of her father and likely her uncle as well, and her being on the run. Her mind was absolutely stuffed to the brim. Unfortunately for the wayward princess, fate saw fit to throw yet another thing into the melting pot that was her mind. She had stumbled upon an impromptu mass grave, the ground too hard for any burials. Thus, sixteen corpses decorated the forest. 

Elincia started when her foot hit an armoured corpse, still holding its lance. Her heart leaped out of its place and she started sweating for the few seconds it took for her to realize the cadaver posed her no harm. 

Elincia carefully stepped over the corpse, hesitantly looking around her, her gaze shifting constantly. Whoever or whatever killed these sixteen people might have still been there. Her guard was up as high as it could go, and her nerves were like a malfunctioning rope, just waiting to drop whatever it may have been holding. 

She stalked up to the largest corpse, a young man with bright green hair. He was still dressed in a full set of armour, and along with the massive crimson gashes running across his throat and the side of his head, this meant he was killed in battle. The black armour bore the Daein crest of arms on it, so he was presumably from Daein. Elincia exhaled with a sigh of relief; Daein likely was not responsible for these deaths. Wait… 

Elincia darted around and checked all of the other corpses. They all had Daein armour. She could be sure that Daein had not killed these men. However, it could still have very well been an animal. What animal would be big enough to kill sixteen men? A beast Laguz, perhaps? She couldn’t imagine a beast would be particularly friendly to her, so the danger had far from dissipated.

The princess’s worn feet and aching legs could carry her no further. Pelleas’ impromptu bandage had stemmed the bleeding from her fingers, but her favourite pair of dainty shoes had been torn to shreds by her mad dash away from Crimea. Her feet were not yet bleeding, but that could change quickly. As well, she had not eaten or drunk water since she left. She had not spoken with anyone either, so she had little idea how much time had passed. All she knew was the sun, and the sun indicated she had been in flight for over a day. 

Elincia involuntarily slowed down and began breathing extraordinarily heavily. It may have been the stress of seeing the bodies around her that finally took the last of her energy, but she felt herself fading into unconsciousness, with little she could do to stop it. No… No! I am still in danger! I must… I must… Her legs buckled underneath her, her knees slammed into solid rock. She broke her fall with her hands, only for her arms to lose all strength soon after. 

Elincia heard footsteps. Two people, approaching her. She had no strength left to flee even if she wanted to. The last things she heard were their soft, gentle voices, both belonging to very young men, boys almost. 

“Who is this? She is… passed out. And look at her clothes! She needs rest, and possibly healing as well.” 

“You’re right, Rhys. Let’s take her with us, get her fed and watered.” 

“Yes, Lord Ike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be why the fic has the E rating for gore. And yeah, the Greil Mercenaries will not be the main focus for this fic.


	4. Battle Royale

The 240-person battle royale had begun. Every participant desired the same thing: Pelleas’ hand in marriage. As far as Pelleas knew, all of them had entered willingly, volunteering to give up their lives for the possibility of becoming Daein’s princess and future Queen. 

Pelleas was not present to watch the first round of this grotesque display, because he was bedridden after catching some sort of malignant illness. Even Izuka had been unable to diagnose what said illness was, but the conditions were clearly known. He was coughing up blood and running a very high fever. Headaches plagued him frequently, making him unable to relax. Coughing fits regularly interrupted his sleep, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. 

The Daein prince had not been out in public for the last five days as he steadily grew sicker before being confined to his bed. He had not seen his father in that time, at least while he was awake, and Izuka’s visits were uncomfortably infrequent. The chancellor, who also served as Pelleas’ caretaker, had told his ward that he was working on something important, but what that was, there was no way to know. 

And it seemed that this hour marked another of Izuka’s visits, much to his prince’s delight. The crotchety old man hobbled into Pelleas’ bedroom and was greeted with a smile. “Hello, Izuka.” He paused for a throaty cough, and when he removed his arm from his mouth, drops of black blood dotted his white sleeve. It might not have been black, but it was close enough. 

Izuka furrowed his brow in concern. “Pelleas, your condition has been worsening. I may have to use the leeches if this keeps up.” Sweat coursed down Pelleas’ brow. Leeching was an extraordinarily unpleasant procedure, in which leeches were placed on the affected’s skin for the sole purpose of sucking as much blood as possible. Known side effects included dizziness, fatigue and occasional fainting spells. If there was one thing Pelleas did not want, it was to be more fatigued. 

Pelleas was too exhausted to voice most of his objections. All he was able to achieve was mumbling, “Please don’t. That hurts.” 

Izuka placed a cold, clammy hand on Pelleas’ cheek. “You feel much hotter than you were last. It may be necessary. We should hire a cleric to watch over you.” Good idea. “He might recommend something other than that, so I shall wait until I have this hypothetical cleric’s advice.” 

Pelleas mumbled, “Thank you.” and reached out slowly to grab Izuka’s hand. I don't care if it feels odd, I need to feel the cool touch of someone else’s skin right now.

Izuka started at the unexpected physical contact and made to pull his hand away before he apparently thought on the matter some more and accepted his ward’s touch. Izuka’s hands, slick with sweat, would have been an unpleasant sensation for most anyone else, but not for Pelleas. “I am sure you can take some time out of your work, Izuka. We haven’t seen each other for two days now. We should talk.” The prince’s language was slipping, showing how exhausted he truly was. 

With some discontented mutterings, Izuka rummaged through his bag with his free hand until he came upon a small potion vial, one that glowed bright green and was firmly stopped with a cork. He muttered, “This is a potion of energy. It will cure your exhaustion if you drink it.” Pelleas eagerly snatched it out of Izuka’s hand and found it to be quite effective. 

Izuka stayed with Pelleas, talking, for over an hour, according to the candle clock in the corner. He took his leave shortly before the halls exploded in a tidal wave of noise. Pelleas guessed this was because the first round had ended; the many suitors would be cut in half, to 120. Also, he supposed, many of the losers would have been cut in half, but that joke was very much unintentional. 

Pelleas supposed he had dozed off, for when he next woke, the blinds were draped over the hole in the outside wall, and torches decorated his room. I have to thank the servants for this the next time I see them. 

The thick oaken door barring visitors access to the prince creaked and groaned, as if its hinges were about to burst. A servant frantically pushed open the door as King Ashnard confidently strode into his son’s room. 

Although this was the first time father and son had met since Pelleas was taken ill, he greeted his father with a sickly smile. “Father, it’s great to see you.”

Ashnard nodded gravely. “Son, I see your language is slipping.” He chortled to himself at the thought before taking several menacing steps forward to his son’s side. He ran a bare hand through his thick purple hair and reassured him, “You will get through this illness, son. You have my blood; you have the strength.” 

Pelleas feebly laughed. Heh, that is true. “Thank you, Father.”

“Ah yes, I almost forgot. The battle for your hand got off to a marvellous start. The field has been halved, some literally,” Like Father, like son, I suppose. “and we are down to the strongest one hundred and twenty women in Daein. Enjoy these coming days, son, because you will find the absolute best wife this country has to offer.” Somehow, Pelleas doubted that would be the case. Father and son had quite different standards of what made a good wife. Pelleas internally prayed that his new wife would not be a terror in the house or the bedroom. 

With that, the King of Daein took his leave, and Pelleas saw no reason to stay awake. It was nighttime, after all, and the ill prince needed his sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

General Petrine rallied her troops in pursuit of Princess Elincia. She had received no orders to do so; she was acting on her own volition. She brought three members of the Daein nobility with her: Emil, a landless lord serving in the army, Archduke Balmer, the Court Mage, and Ena, her tactician. Truthfully, Ena wasn’t sure if she could even call herself a noble. She had held no land, and she didn’t even hail from Daein. She was a red dragon laguz, from Goldoa.

“Oy! Ena!” Petrine called out for her tactician in her usual crass and uncouth tone. Frankly, Ena was quite surprised and flattered that she had been addressed by her name, not ‘lizard’ or ‘sub-human.’ In her mind, it showed how much she was respected by her superior. 

Ena nodded and hurried over to Petrine. She might have known of her dragon heritage, but her fellow soldiers did not. Thus, she was forced to hide her tail under her cloak. She was grateful nobody considered her attractive enough to try and grope her. Any man who tried would dearly regret his decision, whether Ena wanted to kill him or not. 

Petrine snapped at her strategist, “Where do you think the Crimea bitch’d go?” 

Ena sunk deep into thought, considering everything; the geography, the princess’s mental state, nearby sympathizers, Gallia’s scouts. 

“Hm? Well?” Petrine was getting impatient, as she usually had done. The only reason Ena was able to stay calm is that she knew she was too valuable to kill. That, and even weakened by staying in her human shape, she would be able to defend herself quite easily. 

“First, Elincia is not likely to take any rest. She is far too desperate to do so, and given that she does not know Ashnard, she likely believes we are already in pursuit. Since the distance by foot from here to anywhere in Gallia is well over forty-eight hours, she has likely passed out somewhere.” 

“So?” 

“Thus, she has likely been taken in by a sympathizer group. Our takeover of Crimea was far from peaceful, so many citizens will not be remotely sympathetic to us.”

“Ha!” Petrine rudely interrupted Ena, who dutifully fell silent. “Damned right it wasn’t! My lance was hungry, and it’s fed well!” She casually started twirling her lance in the air, uncaring of any innocent, or rather, ‘innocent’ soldiers caught in its fiery twirl. 

“Either she has been eaten by a wild animal or found by someone, sympathetic or not. Firstly, we are to send out as many scouts as we can afford to villages all over the south of Crimea, asking for her whereabouts. If one of them turns her over to us, that is the problem solved. If not, we can apply some force, but without the King’s approval, we do not have nearly enough forces to subdue any armed resistance.” 

“And? Where do we fuckin’ go?”

“Gebal. Any organized sympathetic group would wish to take her out of sight. She wishes to go to Gallia, and thus, any ordinary commander would presume she wishes to go straight to their capital, at Zarsi. But that is the trap. That is what we are supposed to think. Instead, they will take the much more difficult route at the northern end of the border. The jungle is much thicker there, and the river would be beyond crossing for any of our cavalry. This leads me to suspect that they either have none, or they have great aerial mobility. Thus, our wyverns will be able to ride them down with ease, provided the former option, and our archers will shoot them out of the sky, provided the latter.” 

Petrine laughed maniacally and clapped. She placed a hand on Ena’s shoulder for support, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, and congratulated her, “That’s my girl! You are the smartest sub-human I’ve ever met! Not that that means much, of course!” As Petrine laughed, Ena flushed at the compliment. What would be normally considered a backhanded compliment at best was genuine high praise coming from the normally prickly general. 

Ena mumbled into Petrine’s ample plated chest, “I’m not done.” She didn’t know if Petrine heard her, but she doubted it. When she was released from Petrine’s iron-clad grasp, she was offered, “If we catch this little whore, you’re getting a promotion! Right below me, you’ll be!” Ashnard was well known for promoting hitherto unknown commoners to positions of great esteem, although Ena would be the first laguz to receive such an honour.

After some more banter, Ena was reluctantly dragged off to celebrate with the army in a raucous feast. She was not remotely fond of alcohol, as not only was it harmful to her, it could also accidentally ignite her fire breath. She doubted anyone in the army would look kindly upon her if she accidentally killed someone, although there was little they could do about it. 

Ena ended up seated next to Archduke Balmer, who had been flagrantly denied a seat on Petrine’s left hand, that seat instead going to a fiery young girl with hair to match. She looked at Ena with admiration before she savagely tore into a leg of roast swan. I see she is enjoying Crimea’s delicacies very much. 

It was quite a shocking experience for Ena, seeing another female ranking so highly in this small squadron. There were some women in the army, but they were hardly populous. Maybe one in ten, if that, of the one thousand soldiers, were female. She wondered what this other woman had done to gain General Petrine’s recognition. She was also greatly concerned for her future well-being, but that was immaterial as of right now. 

Ena had to conceal her appetites during these communal dinners, for fear of others thinking her unwomanly at best or figuring out her identity at worst. Thus, she did not fill her plate, instead choosing a single rare steak and drenching it in sauce. Still unwomanly, but they are less likely to notice now. She also scooped up a small helping of salad, to help further ward suspicion. They won’t notice me anyway. 

Aside, that is, from him. Balmer was leaning over and attempting to seductively wrap an arm around Eda’s shoulders. Surely, he thought he could get into Petrine’s good graces by bedding her effective second in command. He was very wrong. 

Ena knew that killing a man at the dinner table would immediately give her away, and almost froze up in fear. She was barely able to move enough to swat his hand away, a gesture he apparently paid attention to. 

This did not deter him for long, however. Instead, he attempted to use words to secure his bed-prize. He very much had the wrong view of the situation, but little was to be done about it. Ena could, however, give him a stern warning as to what she really was. 

“Come, my sweet, there is no need to be afraid. I will be gentle-“ Balmer was cut off midsentence by Ena leaning over and placing her head on his shoulder, ever so briefly. Her reptilian tongue flicked out and swept across his neck, before her fangs sunk into the base of his neck, where head met body. Not a serious wound, but more than enough for him to ascertain that she was no human. 

Balmer instinctively flinched away from the dragon woman and slapped a hand to his neck. He saw the blood that tipped his fingers and stared at her in fear. He muttered, “A no would have done.”

Clearly, he had recognized the sign for what it was. Ena stared back, fires lighting in her startlingly blue eyes. She clearly conveyed the threat of death if he told anyone, or at least, she hoped that was the message he would take from it. 

With that, Ena returned to her dinner, contented that her secret was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to my very small group of fans for the delay; I've been busy over the last two weeks.


	5. Marie

Day Two of the bloody, brutal, gruesome competition for Pelleas’ hand had begun. The field had been whittled down to one hundred and twenty of Daein’s most determined women, or rather, one hundred and nineteen, plus Marie herself. Only forty would leave alive.

The first day had taken place in the tunnels under Melior, a chaotic mess of blood and gore. There was very little room for anyone to maneuver, and the limited amount of torchlight made it difficult to tell friend from foe. This was why Marie was glad for Helena’s extreme height. She stood out so much from the rest of the competitors, it was practically impossible to mistake her for anyone else. 

The second day was to take place in a set of rolling hills, under the blazing afternoon sun. There was certain to be much more visibility this time than last, making alliances a much easier prospect. Obviously, Marie would do her best to seek out and protect Helena quickly. She may have been muscle-bound, but she was far from invincible. 

Marie was unable to spot anyone she recognized among her neighbours, much less knew the name of. Good. It shall make killing them a much easier task. 

In the distance, Ashnard’s booming voice sounded, signalling the beginning of the battle. 

While most of her neighbours made a mad dash away from each other, attempting to hide amongst the hills, Marie made the short climb to the top of the closest hill and readied her bow. She planned on staying out of danger for as long as she could. If she was lucky enough, she would be able to avoid face-to-face combat altogether. The odds of that are slim. And Ashera knows, if someone fights me in melee, I am doomed. 

The women had been allowed to bring any weapons they possessed to the combat, so Marie still carried her special longbow, made of redwood. It was a very easy bow to pull back, as well as being light for its size and quite flexible, meaning it wasn’t going to break too easily if something went wrong. The main trade-off was that its power was severely lacking, and thus, its distance was quite short for a longbow. If she tried to shoot as far as some of the legendary archers she had heard of, her bow would snap in two. 

Of course, in these hills, Marie wouldn’t be able to aim far enough in the distance for that weakness to matter. Most of the people she could hit would be about ten to twenty metres away.

A small combatant scurried by under the hill Marie was standing on. She looked defenceless, but Marie guessed that was a ruse. Your blond-haired, wide-eyed innocent look is fooling nobody on Day Two. Day One, maybe. Not today. She soon fell to the ground, her spine shattered by an expertly fired arrow. I should probably end it. Just because I have to kill doesn’t mean I have to make them suffer. Marie fired another arrow in short order, this one impaling the unfortunate victim through the brain. 

With one victim loudly killed, Marie felt it was time for her to move. She noticed Ashnard’s wyvern, rider mounted on it, watching their theatrics. How are you enjoying this?! You damned blueblood, come down here yourself if you wanna see killing so much! Of course, Marie didn’t act on this urge. Doing so was what got her in this mess in the first place, considering suicide on the battlefield. 

She had settled that question on the first day, of whether to end her own life. She had resolved not to give up on herself; no matter what, as long as she was alive, she could keep fighting. Now, it was time for her to take that action again. It seemed that she had moved just in time, too, for the hilltop behind her exploded in a massive fireball. Seems like a mage girl’s on my trail already. Ugh! This is what I was trying to avoid… 

Marie readied her bow and snuck around the base of a hill, listening intently for any sound at all. Anything that could indicate her attacker was just around the corner. Or not a corner, given that the hills were round. 

An unpleasant cracking sound came from in front of Marie, something that certainly sounded like nothing a mage could do. A trail of blood ran to Marie’s feet, staining the cheap sandals she was wearing a deep red. Well, I think I know what happened to that mage. The question was, did this new woman pose a threat to her? 

She rounded the hill base, arrow pointed at whoever had just killed the mage, only to find it was… Helena. A hatchet was embedded in the mage’s skull, and the titanic female warrior wielded a massive silver axe. Marie knew the other woman could easily split her in two if she so wished. She was too close to fight, so the only courses of action were to either run away or pray to the goddess. Given that at least one hatchet was already known, the latter seemed more practical. 

Marie dropped her bow, arrow still loaded, and reached out her arm. “Alliance?” She knew she was flushing, but there was little to be done about that. She knew the expression would go away quickly enough if Helena decided to attack. 

Helena also blushed, strangely enough. She strapped her axe to her back and reached out one massive hand to shake Marie’s comparatively tiny one. Her entire arm was jolted up and down by the crushing handshake that followed. “Alliance. You shoot, I smash. Seems simple enough.” 

“Thank you!” Marie wrapped Helena in a tight hug, or at least, she tried to. Her head barely came up to the larger girl’s breasts, and her arms failed to encircle her waist completely. Helena returned the thank you, complete with an awkward pat on the head and a polite request to let go. Helena immediately obliged, blushing furiously. 

Marie’s bow safely back in hand, the new teammates trudged through the hills, vigilant for any possible threats. They both excluded each other, Helena for practicality and Marie for her morals. 

The two fighters passed several dead bodies on their trek, most of whom had nothing on them. Each contestant carried a pack of magical fire that their killer was supposed to toss in the air after their victim died. This was to signify that a dead body was present when Ashnard or whoever else oversaw these cruel games could not see them. This was meant to ensure that no more contestants died than were expected. It had worked for the first day, so it would hopefully work for this one. If a contestant saw a corpse with their pack of magical fire still attached, they were supposed to toss it in the air in their killer’s stead. Now that Marie thought about it, neither she nor Helena had done so for their kills. Oops. 

Helena stumbled across one of those corpses completely by chance, nearly submerged in a river. She fished the pocket of magical fire out and tossed it in the air, which promptly lit up in a ball of intense flame. Unfortunately, this also had the side effect of giving away their location. In other words, their enemies would be coming for them in short order. 

When Marie informed Helena of her tactical blunder, she responded bluntly. “It’s what we’re supposed to do. Let ‘em come to us, this shit’ll end faster. You have a bow, right?”

“Right.” Marie blushed again and ran up the nearest hill. “I’ll get some vision, and serve as bait. You come in and smash anyone who tries to attack me.” 

“You want to… Thanks. Means a lot to me.” Helena awkwardly waved Marie off as she climbed the three metres to the top of the hill. 

Sure enough, a pack of two fighters was coming Helena’s way. One wielded a lance; the other, a sword. They should be easy enough to pick off. The sword woman doesn’t even have a helmet. Marie aimed her bow at the sword wielder but had no time to fire before she was noticed. The lance woman shouted, “Hey! Free meat up here!” and pointed at Marie. Shit. Of course they have allies. This will be a dreadfully long process. 

Marie quickly loosed her arrow into the sword wielder’s head, then turned around to see another bow aimed at her. She ducked the arrow and fired another one back, which impaled the enemy archer’s leg. They angrily shouted in pain, but Marie did not need to finish them. In fact, it was probably best that she moved, and quickly. 

Helena was in combat, but only very briefly. It took approximately thirty seconds for the lance-wielding woman’s helmeted skull to be shattered by the sheer force behind her axe. She fell to the ground, brains spilling onto the thin layer of grass. Helena silently reached down and grabbed both fighters’ magical fire packets. Two more blazes lit up the afternoon sky. 

Marie came up on Helena just as she was in the midst of wiping the gore off her axe. She jumped back as the axe came swinging at her, blade thankfully facing away. It would still hurt quite a lot to be hit in the face with the blunt end, however. 

Helena only seemed to realize how close Marie was after she turned around to see her nervous expression. “Oh. Um… sorry ‘bout that.” 

Marie dismissed Helena’s concerns with a forced laugh. “No, it’s fine. Really. I should’ve looked where I was going. Speaking of which, we should probably get going. Never know how many enemies we’ll find.” 

Ashnard’s booming voice, likely magically enhanced, shouted from the sky, “Only eighty contestants left! We are halfway to the end of the day!” A burst of fire lit up the sky, then another. “Actually, that is now seventy-eight. I hope you are having fun, men.” Several members of the audience had been lifted into the air on wyverns, enabling them to view the action as well. How do you people get any enjoyment from this? Ashnard, I get. He’s crazy. But so many of his men, too?

At least the news about the numbers was hopeful. They were more than halfway to the end of Day Two. After that, only two more days to go. Marie had immense difficulty finding happiness in that, but there was a lurking sense of contentment in the knowledge that only seventy-six people stood between her and survival. 

Helena grimaced at the news. “Now… um… how many of us are dead?” 

Marie shrugged. “I d’know, I can’t do that complicated stuff. A lot, I know that. Over half, I can tell you that much.” 

Helena sighed in response. Likely, she couldn’t do the math either. Being a commoner didn’t give you too many opportunities to learn these kinds of things. Marie was barely literate, and she doubted Helena was much better. 

“So many deaths… and for what? Marrying the prince? It isn’t bloody worth it.” Marie knew that much, but she was surprised to hear anyone else say the same. They had signed up for this, so they clearly thought it was. She told Helena as much, only to receive a surprisingly angry reaction. 

“Really? Do you think I volunteered for this? My pig’s arse of a father signed me up for it. Piece o’ lumber must’ve thought gettin’ the fair prince to stick his cock up my arse would earn us wealth.” She spat in disgust. “He doesn’t know these fucking people, and I didn’t either, ‘til I came ‘ere.” 

That explained much. Marie, too, hadn’t entered of her own free will. She simply hadn’t expected that the same would be true of others. Stupid girl! Think! Even in Daein, women didn’t have their own voice. Of course a lot of the girls here wouldn’t sign themselves up. How many sisters or daughters or nieces would have been entered by their fathers or brothers or uncles? And now she was supposed to kill them when they were all forced into this? 

“I’m not here on my own either. Ashnard forced me into this after he captured me. I was the only prisoner to be treated that way. The others were all executed or…” Marie shuddered, cutting off her sentence. She very much did not want to think about what could have happened to the rest. If they were still alive, they probably wished otherwise. And she thought she had it bad! 

Helena shrugged noncommittally. “Voluntary or not, they’re here. They’re here, and I’ve gotta kill ‘em. You wanna come with me, or not?”

Marie’s near-instant response was cut off prematurely by the sounds of splashing. They were instantly identified as coming from Marie’s left, Helena’s right.

There was no time to get Marie’s bow ready, so Helena instinctively leaped in front of her, axe bared. Th-thank you! I need to thank you after you’re done here. 

It turned out, thankfully, that there was no threat. The person making the splashing sounds was the injured archer from earlier, limping through the muck with an expression of pain on her face. 

She was a non-threatening, almost pitiable figure, standing there, helpless. She wore a hood covering long dark grey hair, as opposed to Marie and Helena’s relatively short hair. Her frame was thin, but still well-built, and the muscles in her legs stood out upon casual observance. Seemingly random pieces of armour decorated parts of her arms, chest, and upper thighs. 

The other obvious trait was the arrow sticking out of her leg. It hung there awkwardly, impeding its victim’s movements. When she looked up, another standout trait came through about her; her skin was darker than anything either woman had ever seen.

“Don’t shoot, please.” A short sentence came out under the woman’s breath. “I’m harmless. Can’t do much to you like this, now can I?” Wait. Shoot? That meant Marie must have been seen behind the stone wall that was Helena. 

Marie could not see Helena’s face, but she had obviously relented, for the archer woman emerged from the marshy area and emerged from her crouch beside them. 

“Name’s Arwa. You probably haven’t heard of that name before, and that would be because I’m not from this continent.” Arwa dismissively waved her hand as she continued, “You don’t need to know the name, just that it’s very, very far away.” 

“Interesting.” Marie nodded along in idle agreement, while Helena stood menacingly, glowering at Arwa but making no moves. “What brings you here?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to marry the prince. I don’t have any chances back home, so I came here. Simple.” She folded her arms and smiled smugly. She tried to shove past Helena, only to be casually tossed to the ground in return. You really should’ve known that would happen. Marie smiled at Helena approvingly before Arwa started speaking again. 

“As you can see, I’m wounded. Would you be so kind as to let me come with you?” Helena did not look pleased with the prospect, and frankly, Marie didn’t wish to do so, either. She didn’t know this woman, and she hadn’t exactly demonstrated herself to be the best of people. She could easily backstab either one of them and run away. Or rather, limp away. Either way, it wasn’t a risk worth taking. 

There was no argument between Marie and Helena; the answer was a resounding no. The larger woman bluntly informed Arwa, “Sorry, not an option. Best I’ll offer, I won’t kill you. Run off, and hopefully you’ll get yourself killed before we have to fight again.” Marie nodded in agreement.

Arwa growled, but seeing as she wasn’t in a position to do much, she limped away through the hills, dry grass this time. Marie had few doubts over whether that was the right thing to do. Helena, evidently, had even fewer. 

The two fighters restarted their trek through the hills, coming across no enemies, but several corpses. When Ashnard announced that only sixty fighters were left, Marie knew she and Helena both had good odds of surviving. All they had to do was steer clear of anyone else, and that would come to pass quickly. 

Unfortunately, fate and the goddess Ashera didn’t seem to be on Marie’s side that day, as they were attacked when Ashnard began his countdown. Fifty left. 

A thin sword-wielding woman leaped at them from around a hill, running straight into Helena. Marie was soon grateful she was in the back, for defeating this woman was no easy feat.

She deftly dodged around Helena’s massive axe, light brown hair flapping, jumping in for a slap or slice with her sword, then prancing out again. Blood started to slowly drip from Helena’s massive frame as she took more and more damage. Forty-nine left. 

Worst of all, the combined elements of Helena’s size, the narrow passage they had been forced into, and the constant movement of the enemy meant she had no chance of lining up a reliable shot. But what else was she to do? She’d be slaughtered if she tried to fight this woman up close, with only a puny dagger to her name. Forty-eight left. 

That question was unfortunately answered when a scream sounded from over the top of the hill beside Marie. Not a pained scream; an excited one. A tall and graceful black-haired woman, wielding two knives, leaped over the hill and rushed down to engage Marie. She had no time to load a shot, much less fire one. You have got to be kidding me! I’ll be butchered! Forty-seven left. 

Marie fumbled at her waist for a dagger, a dagger that she rose just in time, for her attacker was bearing down on her. She avoided one sword by a millimetre, and then ducked under the other, only to receive a boot to the face. Forty-six left. 

Marie flew into the opposite hill, landing hard on her back. At least I’m not lying down. In her struggles she rammed her foot directly between the opponent’s legs, stunning her and giving the small girl the upper hand. Forty-five left. 

Now towering over her stunned opponent, figuratively at least, Marie slammed her fist into her face and sent her to the ground. She stomped on her stomach before drawing her dagger to end it. Forty-four left. 

Marie plunged her dagger straight into the sword fighter’s heart, eliciting a panicked shout from her. Blood pooled at her lips, but she was still able to move her swords, as she proved when she tried to chop Marie’s legs. Forty-three left. 

Marie stepped backwards to avoid the feeble attempt at a dying attack, before closing in and finishing it. Her dagger plunged straight into its victim’s stomach. And again. And again. And again. Eventually, there was nothing left to stab, for the repeated attacks had left a massive hole in her chest, a hole that quickly lost its organs. Forty-two left. 

Blood flowed freely to the ground, staining the grass red, wetting it and making it slick and slippery. The stomach and intestines of the most recent victim spilled between her legs, making a disgusting slapping sound on Marie’s feet. Oh, I have to grab her packet to register the death. This should end this. Forty-one left. 

As soon as the last fireball lit up the evening sky, Ashnard bellowed in his far too jovial voice, “That is it! We are down to forty people! Save your killing for the next day, everybody!” 

Blood dripped in lines from Helena’s arms, chest, and face, from the over a dozen cuts littering her body. And yet, she was still standing, still standing long enough for her opponent to try and reconcile. “Hey, miss! Sorry about that whole trying to kill you thing. What’s your name?” The burly woman only responded with a brutal punch that took the frail swordswoman off her feet.

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It was the night after Day Two, and only forty women were left in the competition. It was truly remarkable, Marie mused to herself, how few of them remained in the room. They had been whittled from two hundred and forty to only forty, and it was a miracle it wasn’t fewer. Two hundred women were dead, and at least thirty more would join them the next day. All Marie could do was ensure that she and Helena weren’t among those two. 

Marie was stripping down from her combat gear to once again don a dress for the dinner that night. This time, donned only in a silken nightgown, she chose a startling dark red dress. As she slipped it over her undergarments, she appreciated the cruel, cruel symbolism. She, who had her hands stained with so much blood, wearing a dress that reflected as much. She remembered her last kill, and indeed, the last kill of the day, earlier that day, when that metaphor had become disturbingly literal. She hadn’t thought herself capable of killing a fellow woman with her bare hands, but here she was. 

The curtain opened behind Marie, letting in… someone. That someone certainly wasn’t Helena. By pure instinct, Marie leaped to the side, hiding in the dress rack. She had no weapons on her, and she knew that if they were stolen, she could ask for more from Daein if she wished. In other words, it was best she avoided any open conflict. 

Unfortunately, her blood-red dress made doing any hiding rather difficult. She realized this when the crass voice of Arwa called out, “I can see you, Marie! And I’m not trying to kill ya!”

Marie peeked out from behind an ugly daisy-yellow dress to see Arwa, still limping but with an amused grin on her face. “Relax, I don’t mean to hurt ya! I just came in to get ya for Anne! She mentioned something about inviting you for dinner. Dinner? What? We’re all having dinner in the Daein dining hall, right? 

When Marie and Arwa came out of the dressing room, the flabby girl was ambushed by Anne, being wrapped in a tight hug. Marie, panicked, started flailing to try and escape the fellow woman’s death grip. 

Marie came out of the hug struggling and gasping for air. “Hold… Hold on… still… getting… my breath… back.” 

“Oh! Sorry!” Anne dressed her face with a frown and waited for Marie to recover while she made her offer. “Norris invited me out for a trip to his mansion tonight after dinner, and I was wondering if you wanted to come. He’s willing to let me bring some friends.” 

Marie flushed. Oh. She had regained her breath by that point, and was quite flattered by the compliment. Am I your friend? I’m honoured. She had spoken with Anne on occasion for the last fortnight, but calling her a friend would have been a stretch. Then, she realized; it made sense that the term was a stretch. She was almost certainly disingenuous in her cheer. She’s just trying to make me let my guard down. 

But, she supposed, as long as she didn’t fall for her sickly sweet trap, there was no harm in a simple dinner. Anne carried a head of long blonde hair, and wore a tight pink dress that emphasized her shapely figure. Her chest was noticeable, but far from large. Marie preferred it that way on girls, anyway; overly large breasts were cumbersome in daily life, or so she had heard.   
Six figures, none of whom Marie knew the names of, stood behind Anne, gossiping and laughing mirthfully. Arwa stood to the side of Marie, making a total of nine women in the group. Marie but on a veil of bashfulness as she shyly accepted, “Sure, I guess. I can do that.” 

“Great!” Anne was about to spout off on another rant, but she was interrupted by Marie, “Could we also bring Helena, though?” 

“Oh! Um…” Anne counted the girls behind her again, before deciding to allow this. “Sure!” She chirped happily, like a baby bird. Part of her innocent façade, I just know it. She happily called across the room, “Helena!” 

Helena sullenly trudged across the room to Anne and her group. She asked, “Yes?” Upon hearing she was being invited to a party at the house of some fancy Daein noble, she froze on the spot, stalling. Marie shot her a reassuring glance, and she eventually agreed. 

As the group set off for dinner, and Helena shoved her way in between the other women to get to Marie, the small girl noticed their numbers. Ten people. Now she knew what Anne was trying to do. Not befriend her to get rid of her, but make an impromptu alliance that would last until Day Four. She was trying to save her own skin. Marie couldn’t decide whether to be less frightened by that or not. 

The dinner was extravagant, as per usual, Marie supposed. Ashnard had the cruel sense of humour required to think serving the meat rare was a good idea, so she did not enjoy her main course. When she poked her steak with her knife, thin, watery, burgundy blood oozed out of the slab of meat and onto her plate. Now that is just a cruel joke. 

Regardless, Marie did need to eat something of substance, as she could not get by on bread and cheese alone. Doubly so for the desserts she knew would be served later that night. Perhaps the swan or the meat pies will prove more appetizing… but I don’t want to fatten myself. After all, I have a battle tomorrow. 

Marie could not decide for the life of her whether it would be more prudent to look attractive or unattractive for that night’s, ah, festivities. There were upsides and downsides to both. Of course, there was little that could be done to make her look any better than her already plain self, so that was really a moot point. 

At one point during the feast, the aforementioned Norris somehow ended up in the seat beside her. He was a pasty, rather short man with a round head and fiery red hair, much more striking than Marie’s sickly orange. He made it clear he was there to speak with her by the fact that he immediately addressed her, “You’re Marie, correct? The archer girl?” 

Marie shyly squeaked out, “Y-yes, sir. You are Norris, correct?” 

Norris smugly replied, “Well, I suppose you could say that. Lieutenant Norris of the Daein army, son of General Bryce of the Four Riders.” He proudly patted the Daein emblem on his right breast. He spoke snidely, in a nasal voice. From the looks of him, he was only a few years older than Marie herself, who had just celebrated the end of her second decade before being captured. 

Marie, at this point, was slightly tipsy, to put it in colloquial terms, and she knew Norris would recognize that, so she was slightly scared for what might have come next. Her mind had been jumbled by the glass of wine she had drank, and she couldn’t be sure what would happen to her, but she knew she wouldn’t like it. 

Whatever her prediction may have been, it was proved incorrect shortly after. Norris didn’t seem to have much interest in her as a woman, instead proving much more intrigued by her appearance, and not in the usual way men were. 

“Hmm.” Norris scrutinized Marie up and down, taking great interest in her face. He then, surprisingly enough, snickered, as if he had gleamed something of great value from his inspection. 

“Orange hair, freckles… thin frame… my, you could fit right in as my younger sister. If you survive this and lose, what would you say about being adopted?” 

Wait, what?! Regardless of how tipsy she may have been, Marie had heard Norris’ last sentence loud and clear. You want to… No, that cannot be true. That would be absurd. Are they suffering from some sort of problem producing heirs? 

Marie sputtered like she was gasping for breath, which, in essence, she was. As she stumbled over her words of disbelief, Norris let out a high and reedy laugh. “Ha! I am only kidding, peasant. Why would I ever ask one of such a low rank as you that?” He calmed down enough to continue in a neutral tone, “I was not kidding about you looking like a long-lost sister, though. Anyway, I believe you were invited to my father’s estate this night?”

Marie went from being incoherent in shock to being in the same state, only this time in anger. That was a dirty trick, tree-fucker! You piece of horse shit, you… She obviously didn’t vocalize any of her thoughts at that time aloud, only responding with a curt, “Yes, I was.” 

“Excellent, then. We are going. Bring your warrior friend as well, if you both still wish to come.” With that, Norris left the table, greeted by an overly friendly Anne. I see she's already starting the wooing process. Marie presumed what the Daein noble meant by ‘her warrior friend’ was that she needed to retrieve Helena. 

Approximately an hour later, the three coaches carrying the partiers arrived at Bryce and Norris’ estate. Norris had brought two of his friends with him, so the coaches were more cramped than expected. At least, Marie believed that to be the proper thing to expect; she had never ridden in a coach before, and she doubted she would again, aside from the ride back to Melior, whenever that might take place. 

Norris leaped out of one of the coaches with a flourish, along with his two friends in their respective coaches. Marie and Anne had been seated in the one with Norris, while Arwa and Helena had been in different coaches altogether. 

To Norris’ left stood a smug-looking green haired man, dressed in a black and red overcoat. To his right, towering over both other men, stood a massive, hard-faced man with long, flowing yellow hair. His azure armour obscured what were presumably bulging muscles. 

Norris began some sort of speech, “So, this is Father’s new mansion. He received it off some fat Crimean noble when we took over, and he has since redecorated. As you will see, he is a very humble man. Anyway, as for my friends, the green one is Homasa, and yellow is Gromell.” Well, that was a succinct explanation. Also a very short speech, for the pasty Daein lieutenant said no more before turning and walking inside. The other two men stopped to greet their assorted female guests, which Marie had little interest in. 

All three men were at least somewhat attractive, Marie admitted, and she was not necessarily opposed to bedding any of them, but she had better things to do. Besides, there would be plenty of other options; aside from Helena, who seemed even more disinterested than Marie, there were eight other girls each could fuck if they wanted to. 

Anne caught up with Marie just outside the double doors, excitedly throwing out words that presumably became sentences. The other girl replied, “Please Anne, slow down. I can’t understand a single word you’re saying.” 

“Oh, sorry! I just wanted to let you know to relax and have some fun! Gromell is my big brother, and his friends are great at parties! I can help you get used to everyone, if you want.” Marie politely accepted, but when she entered the mansion, she was distracted by its opulence. 

Well, relative opulence, anyway. It seemed extraordinarily grand to someone of little means like Marie, but she was sure it genuinely counted as humble compared to some nobles’ homes. There was very little in the way of gold or silver, but the wood was polished and squeaky clean. A red brick fireplace was embedded in a nearby wall, and the stairs were finely carpeted, with steel banisters leading guests up to what was a presumably excellent set of rooms. 

An ornate table, with smooth wooden legs and a sheet of thick glass on top, sat in the middle of the sitting room, with stuffed chairs sitting all around it. There were more than enough to fit every person who would be occupying the mansion that night. Marie presumed there was so much more to it, such as a massive outdoor section, kitchen, and who knew what else, but it seemed that the sitting room would be the base of most activities, given that they had all finished eating not long before. 

As guests filed in to the building, Marie turned out to be right in her assumption. Everyone sat in a stuffed chair, one coated in a red silk cover. Helena immediately made a beeline to sit right beside Marie, which she was very much glad for, given the unfamiliar nature of the estate. Anne, of course, took Marie’s other side. None of the men sat near the three of them, which Marie could understand for herself and Helena, but found quite odd for Anne. Perhaps Norris and Homasa were afraid of making their friend angry. 

Arwa, on the other hand, was receiving very special treatment from Homasa; he had spoken to her almost exclusively since they entered the building. With an amused snicker, Marie thought, I think I know where this is going. 

The hours flew by, as beer and wine were served and the people seated, including Marie and eventually Helena, talked increasingly loudly. A number of games were developed by the semi-drunk party guests, most of which steadily became lewder as the night went on. There was no doubt that this accelerated the bedding process slightly, as all three men eventually left to an empty room, including Homasa and Arwa. 

The lustful couple could hardly get out of their seats without engaging in some sort of foreplay; even when they were sat down, Homasa had started fondling Arwa’s clothed breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb. When they had gotten up, they had almost immediately wrapped each other in a tight embrace and started kissing like it was their last day on the planet; for Arwa, it likely was. The two of them awkwardly stumbled up the stairs, much to the enjoyment of the seven remaining girls who lacked a male partner. 

Giggles rang throughout the room as the last of the men left. All seven women were some level of drunk at that point, so many of them would either have to find an empty room or sleep in their chairs. 

It was at this time when Anne leaned over and whispered to Marie, “Could we talk? Upstairs?” Um… Marie didn’t know how to respond to that. What threat could she pose? She’s a woman, and she’s drunk. Even if my reaction time is off, I’ll be fine. 

Marie awkwardly ascended from her chair and almost fell over soon after. The combination of high heels, a restricting dress, and tipsiness almost proved too much for the woman. Anne got up soon after, only with much more finesse. Clearly, as a noble, she was much more used to wearing these kinds of garments. 

Helena leaped from her seat upon seeing Marie was about to leave. Forming an impromptu wall in front of Marie, she glowered at Anne and shouted, probably unintentionally. “What’re you doing with her, eh?!” The other four girls stopped the conversation they were having, startled by her sudden outburst. 

Marie calmly reassured Helena, “Helena, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry one bit. I’ll be back down in a few minutes, don’t you worry.” Helena then must have realized she was still around four other people, for she immediately fell silent. She threw herself back down in her chair, embarrassed and blushing a deep crimson. 

Marie and Anne awkwardly ascended the stairs together, Marie struggling sometimes to stay on her feet and Anne gently placing her hand on the more unsteady girl’s back to keep her from falling over. This eventually progressed into her snaking her outstretched arm across a timid Marie’s shoulders. 

The two of them reached a locked room that, judging by the lack of sound coming from it, was empty. Anne gently pushed Marie against the door, which held firm, and ran her hands across the other girl’s shoulders. She whispered sultrily, “Do you like women, Marie?” 

Marie feigned ignorance. Of course she knew what Anne meant. “What do you mean? I think women are fine-“ 

“I mean, would you sleep with one?” She quietly giggled and started to slip off Marie’s dress at the shoulders. It was a subtle movement, but a very noticeable one. A lustful gleam developed in her eyes as she pushed in closer against Marie’s slim frame. 

“Um, well…” Marie struggled to find her thoughts in the wake of this sudden advance. She’s just trying to make me let my guard down, isn’t she? Well, I won’t let her do that! “I would sleep with a woman, yes…” She never finished that sentence, for that was all the confirmation Anne needed. 

“It’ll be our secret, that you have these tastes, if that is okay with you.” With that, she launched herself at Marie, passionately kissing her, effortlessly slipping her tongue in between her pale pink lips. 

Anne’s grip on Marie’s shoulders tightened, and she pressed in further against her. Marie heard the jiggling of the doorknob as Anne undid it and pushed her into the room, where she was barely able to stay standing. Her dress had fallen off the shoulders, with only her diminutive breasts barely holding it up. Anne, on the other hand, desired to change that, as quickly as possible. Her fingers massaged the tiny breasts of Marie, with the tips slipping beneath the upper folds of her dress and pulling it down to reveal that there was no bra underneath. 

It was only at this point that Marie found the strength to break away from the kiss and push Anne away from her, hitching up her falling dress. “You never let me finish. I said, I would sleep with a woman. That woman is not you.” 

Anne gasped. “Oh! I am so sorry!” Marie clenched her fists and hoped that her anger at what she had nearly gone through did not succeed in overriding the look of bewilderment and apology she was attempting to perform. “Can we still make an alliance for tomorrow?” 

“Um, sure.” Marie still intended to keep the alliance. As to whether she would honour said alliance… She was not nearly as sure about that. Perhaps pragmatism would outweigh the act of nearly being raped, perhaps not. I will have a very… interesting day tomorrow. Of course, hers will be even more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the next couple of chapters are a bit of a slump. Trust me, it picks up again later.


	6. The Chosen One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the competition for Pelleas' hand. The result seems very predictable... but is it, truly?

Ashnard reclined, or at least as much as a man of his size could, on the blindingly white and gold throne of Crimea. He rued the day he had left Daein’s throne at the capital. _By the goddess Yune, I cannot state in words how much I prefer the ebony throne of my home country._ The marble throne was not built for such a gigantic man, and thus, Ashnard constantly found himself squeezed by its restrictive armrests. His head constantly rose above the headrest, clearly designed for a smaller man such as King Ramon, so he could never recline fully, lest his head fall back at an extraordinarily awkward angle. 

It was during this trying time, these fleeting moments of discomfort, that Izuka slowly limped into the throne room. “My king, I have news for you.” _Ah, the ever so blunt tone I have missed._

Izuka tried his best to kneel before the throne, an attempt that had mixed success, to say the least. He ended up on both knees instead of one, but it was at least better than him falling on his face. “The experiment is ready. As it turns out, humans are just as vulnerable as sub-humans.” _Excellent._

Ashnard was about to request Izuka present his model when he realized his chancellor was not done talking. “However, this one was strong enough as to greatly resist any attempts to feralize him. That is why I am in my current condition.” He was presumably referring to the fact that his legs were practically begging to give out from under him. 

_Hmm…_ Ashnard stroked his pointed goatee with one massive hand as he thought about whether his chief scientist’s experiment truly deserved to be called a success. On one hand, he had succeeded in the stated goal, but on the other, he had also been wounded during the attempts, and there was no guarantee the subject would be tameable.

Ashnard reluctantly ordered Izuka, “Bring him in. Let us see if he is suitable.” The chancellor shuffled out of the throne room, grumbling the entire way. Ashnard presumed it would take quite a long time before he came back with the subject. 

Ashnard was correct in his assumption, it turned out, or it at least felt like it. Izuka limped in, accompanied by two men; General Tauroneo, the former member of the Four Riders, and a shackled man who wore an obsidian helmet. He struggled in his chains and fiercely tried to bite and tear at them. 

A dark green beard adorned his hard chin. His eyes were covered with a visor, and the rest of him was donned in armour as well. Ashnard smiled evilly and wondered if those chains would even hold him. If Duke Renning of Delbray had retained his fighting prowess, that would likely result in the deaths of both Izuka and Tauroneo. Ashnard would miss neither; he could get more strong humans to fulfill their roles. Pelleas was fond of Izuka, however, for some reason; Ashnard could not fathom why that could possibly be. 

Regardless, Ashnard had faith in his head scientist. Thus, he ordered them to wheel their captive before his new king. 

Renning’s body growled viciously, his arms, having come free of their chains, reached out for Ashnard’s throat, trying to end his fragile life. _Fool._

Ashnard punched Renning’s helm in with a single swipe of his spiked gauntlet. His visor split clean in two and his helmet was sent flying, revealing glassy, unfocused eyes beneath. A growl emitted from his clenched jaw as a thin line of blood trickled down the side of his head. Not only was he sufficiently inhuman, he was far more durable than any human had been known to be. Men’s heads had been crushed by Ashnard’s fists before. 

“Ha ha ha. Hahahahahaha!” Ashnard rolled back in his new throne, laughing grandly. “My new general. I believe you will serve quite grandly in my Four Riders. Izuka, take this man away and teach him some obedience.”

Izuka groaned loudly. “Yes, my king.” He feebly reached for the top of the cart carrying Renning, only to fail. He succeeded once Tauroneo lifted him up so he was of a height with the cart. His light weight was still sufficient to pull the cart to the ground. 

The wheels chirped against the ground as he was slowly dragged out. Tauroneo moved to help, but Ashnard called, “Tauroneo, you are to stay. I have another matter to attend to.” Then, he shouted down the hallway at Izuka and Renning, “I wish you luck, Bertram.” 

Approximately an hour later, General Lanvega of the Four Riders tepidly entered the throne room of his king, King Ashnard. Tauroneo was already present, standing vigilantly. 

“M-My king, you wished to see me?” Sweat dripped down his bald brow. He glanced at Tauroneo, presumably trying to see if his fellow general was any more composed. He certainly was, as he had been informed of what Ashnard intended to do. 

“Yes, Lanvega. Do not worry, your body will not remain in my throne room for long.” Ashnard intentionally phrased that sentence in such a way to unnerve his general as much as possible. It seemed to have worked. “You are dismissed from your post. Go home and govern Marado, why don’t you? Take care of your daughter?” 

Lanvega sighed in relief until he fully processed what he was being told. “W-wait, what? I am being dismissed, just like that? I suppose I am no longer strong enough for you. Fitting. I shall take my leave.” All things considered, he took the news respectfully, just as Ashnard had hoped he would. It would have been a shame to lose such a capable governor. Approaching fifty years of age, he was simply unable to catch up with his peers. Bryce may have been older, but he had other reasons for being kept. 

“Tauroneo.” Ashnard called on the capable general. “Escort Lanvega back to Daein, if you would. While he stays, I want you back here. With my queen; she will be a wonderful witness to what shall happen next.” 

Tauroneo started, then nodded and bowed. “Yes, my king. I shall see it done.” With that, both talented men took their leave. Ashnard had no worries about any of them forsaking their duties; neither were ambitious enough to do such a thing. He was not fond of their type, but both washed-up former riders had served him well.

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It was Day Three of the battle royale for Pelleas’ hand. Forty women remained, and a maximum of ten would leave the forest they had been situated in. It was a slim hope that Marie would be one of them, slimmer for Helena to survive as well. It was all she could do to hope. 

Anne was jubilant as usual as she approached Marie and Helena, her friends behind her. “Hey, girl!” Evidently, she had forgotten, or at least, pretended to forget, the previous night. “Here’s hoping our alliance holds up, right?” 

“Right.” Marie donned a fake smile and turned away from Anne, while Helena didn’t even try; she was barely able to conceal her hatred for the perky blond noblewoman after Marie informed her of the previous night’s events. 

Marie whispered to her partner, “The horn’ll sound at any time now. Then, we’ll be able to knock ‘er up all we want, just you watch.” Then, she realized her mistake. “Shit! Not what I meant to bloody say.” 

Helena smirked. She taunted in a deep voice, “Hold those thoughts for when we get ‘er.”

With that, Ashnard blew into the bullhorn that signalled the start of the killings. Marie and Helena sprinted into the forest as soon as possible, away from the weapons of the other competitors. Only two of their neighbours posed an immediate threat, but that was still far from zero. 

A scream sounded from deeper into the forest, and a ball of purple fire lit up the sky. It seemed that a woman had already been killed, and her killer was close. Marie slung her redwood bow off her back, and Helena had her axe in hand before Marie had even warned her. 

Marie whispered to Helena, “Could you go ahead?” 

“No problem. Here’s hoping they’re not a mage.” The worry was understandable; very few humans that were not mages themselves had very little magic resistance. Even the durable Helena was unable to take more than one or two blows from a tome. 

The ground was mostly soil, with very little grass and very few bushes to be seen. That was why the whispers coming from each side of Marie were quite odd. _Am I surrounded?_ She had half a mind to call Helena back to her. _No, she has her own victory to earn. This is mine._

An arrow flew through the gap between two trees. No sounds came on the other end; either nobody was there, or she had missed. The first option was reassuring; the second was not. She stayed in place and cleared her mind of any other thoughts. She needed to listen for enemies. 

But nobody came. The only visitor was Helena, who following another fireball, trudged back, a slight cut on one of her burly legs and her axe stained with blood. “Wasn’t a mage; just an axe fighter. Couldn’t stand up to me, of course.” She absentmindedly flexed her muscles, abruptly stopping after she winced in pain. 

“Marie?” Helena’s voice jarred Marie out of her trance. “You there? Haven’t been possessed or somethin’?”

“Y-yes! Sorry, still here.” Marie snapped to attention. “I thought I heard someone, is all.” 

“Eh.” Helena shrugged apathetically. “Do you wanna stay here for a bit, or keep moving?”

“Let’s keep moving. We are far too close to the edges of the forest for my liking. We’ll be attacked by anyone on the prowl.” Helena shrugged and followed. 

The two women spotted shadows around every corner, an enemy peeking out from behind every tree. A threat would leap from a tree, or a trap would be planted in the ground. Helena chopped the trees with her axe multiple times, while Marie wasted quite a few arrows. 

Eventually, a dark cloud of fatigue settled over the two fighting women, and they slumped down in a protective hollow, swaddled by a massive tree. Said tree might have served as a landmark, but Marie was far too tired to care. 

Helena wrapped a muscle-bound arm around Marie and pulled her close, eliciting a radiant blush out of her. “U-um… Helena…” 

Once Marie piqued her attention, Helena immediately retracted her arm from around the other woman. It seemed to have only recently crossed her mind what that might have looked like. “I’m so sorry, Marie. I wasn’t thinking.” 

_Aw. It’s great that she’s thinking about me. You are just a big lovable mama bear, aren’t you? And I’m one of your cubs. Wait, that sounds really weird. Good thing I didn’t say that out loud._

Marie wasn’t sure how to say this. In fact, not only was she unsure of whether Helena reciprocated her feelings, she couldn’t be certain if she even loved other women in the same way she did. “Um, Helena… I normally wouldn’t rush things so much, but considering either of us could die at any moment, I think I have to say it now. I… I love you.” Now that she had spit it out, she was considerably less worried about the prospect of doing so. She trusted Helena enough to believe she wouldn’t turn on her for her tastes, regardless of what her own were. 

Helena’s face turned a deep red. Marie dearly hoped that to be a good thing. She couldn’t be sure, however, until Helena confessed the same. “I was kind of hoping you’d be the same way as me. Thought it was a silly thing to hope.” 

“Well, you’re wrong. Thank the goddess for that.” Marie leaned over and planted a kiss on Helena’s cheek. She shuffled closer, so that she was almost on the bigger woman’s lap. Almost begging to come on, really. 

Helena responded viscerally to Marie’s advance by doing the same, the smaller girl on her knees as she was towered over. One arm wrapped around her entire back and the other covered her head as she was fiercely pulled into a kiss. 

Marie’s hands reached up and nestled themselves in Helena’s long dark hair, pulling her closer. The two wrestled for control, maneuvered around until Helena was flat on her back, with Marie lying on top of her. It was only then that Marie’s tongue broke Helena’s lips, eliciting a surprised grunt from her.

Marie’s fingers were lightly rubbing Helena’s breasts, and things likely would have gone further if not for a sudden snapping sound jolting the two out of their stupor. They instantly broke away and hastily brushed the dirt off their clothes. Helena grabbed her axe while Marie rushed for her bow and arrows, which she had casually discarded and were lying in the soft brown soil of the forest. 

Of course, Helena emerged from the protective embrace of the tree first, her massive silver axe in one hand and a hand axe in the other, ready to throw at the slightest disturbance. Marie came behind, an arrow loaded in her bow. 

Said disturbance turned out to be Arwa, who had raided their impromptu campsite. Not that there was anything in said campsite to raid, but the threat Marie’s fellow archer presented was more than enough. 

“Hey!” Marie called out for her acquaintance, causing her to turn and fixate her eyes on the opposing archer. “We’re supposed to be allies, right? Let’s work together, shall we?” Despite her reassuring words, Marie had her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she did not dare to move any closer than she already was. 

Arwa smirked and laughed harshly. “Yeah, sorry about that. That’s not gonna last long; you’re too much of a threat to me. I gotta take you down here.” If she was threatened by them, taking both of them on alone now was a suicidal move. Either she wanted to die, or more likely, she had allies hidden in the trees beside them. That meant focusing on her alone would be a decision doomed to end only one way.

Arwa made the first move, unclipping a dagger from her belt and tossing it at Helena’s arm. It sunk up to the hilt in the thick muscle of her appendage, prompting the raised axe to sink lower. _Ouch. That has to hurt._

Helena shook her head and stared at Arwa furiously. She charged, either oblivious to or uncaring of the slow drip of blood coming from her forearm. The nimble archer scrambled out of the way of the charging bear coming her way, taking the opportunity to open a slight wound with another dagger. 

Marie loosed an arrow at Arwa, a shot that went wide. It had approximately no chance of hitting its target. The arrow Arwa fired back was no more effective. Helena was in the way of both of them, preventing them from engaging in a sniper battle like Marie so dearly wanted to. 

The ground exploded behind Marie as a fireball landed right behind her, propelling her forward and onto her face. _Now I’m near helpless… if you want to kill me, now would be a great time to do so._ Of course, she did not want to die; she had resolved herself to stay strong, for Helena, if nobody else. Thus, she scrambled from her prone position to grab her bow. 

In Marie’s struggles, she somehow managed to fire an arrow across the cliff top and skewer the mage standing on top of it. A faint choking sound emitted from the top of the cliff, a sound that only grew louder as its maker collapsed onto the soft soil Marie was still sitting in. 

Now temporarily out of danger, Marie jumped back onto her feet. Aside from a few small burns on her back, she had no wounds on her, and was certainly dextrous enough to climb on top of the downed mage and yank the arrow out of her throat. 

Said mage was evidently not quite dead. She grasped at her throat desperately, attempting to yank out an arrow that was no longer there. Blood spurted from the wound as she flailed, staining the back of Marie’s hands. Her fire tome slipped out of her sweat-covered hands, and she slowly stopped moving as the ground below her head turned into a very dark shade of burgundy. 

Marie had a dagger on her belt; the standard for archers in this twisted game. She plunged it into the dying mage’s heart, ending her suffering instantly. _May you rest in peace, victim of Ashnard’s cruel fantasies._

With blood-soaked hands, Marie bore witness to the duel between Helena and Arwa. It was not going well for the massive warrior, to say the least. She was unable to score a single hit on the nimble archer, and Arwa had a seemingly infinite supply of daggers at her disposal. Marie could count at least four currently embedded in Helena’s limbs, and two more lightly rested in Arwa’s palms. _Aren’t you supposed to be injured? Daein’s clerics must work quickly._

However, Helena was doing an admirable job at fighting through the pain. With a visceral shout, she made one massive swing with her axe. It was a swing that missed, unfortunately, but the force did jolt Arwa’s bad leg. _Ah-ha! So it’s not as healed as we thought. I see._

Arwa growled in anger and drew her bow. “I’m not gonna die here. I will escape. I’m meant for better things than this!” She leaped back, wincing in pain as her leg cracked underneath her, and shot an arrow directly into Helena’s chest. The massive woman finally felt that wound, and collapsed to her knees. Blood slowly trickled out of her mouth, the pace of it only accelerated by her aggressive coughing. She was not dead then, but she was certainly speeding towards that destination. 

Helena! Marie badly wanted to rush over to her friend, no, her lover, and check on her, see if she could somehow fix her condition, but she needed to avenge her first. _Arwa will die here. I cannot let this go unheeded. Besides, what’s one more? I’ve already killed four people._

Arwa was furiously limping away, her hood slipping. She frantically pulled it back up as she tried to escape. Apparently, she was fool enough not to notice that Marie was still alive. With her moving slowly, it was an easy shot. One arrow sliced through her skull, and it was done. No satisfaction flowed through Marie’s veins then, only emptiness. She had been taken from all she knew in the Daein invasion. For all her family and friends knew, she was dead. Such an eventuality would likely come to pass. Now she could lose the one true friend, more than that, she had made since then. 

Marie reluctantly grabbed the magical fire satchel from the slain mage’s belt and tossed it in the air. She walked over to Arwa’s dead body and did the same. 

While Marie was fiddling with Arwa’s belt to grab the fire, a bolt of curiosity struck her. She had never seen Arwa without a hood, even during the party in Norris’ mansion the night before. It certainly made Marie more suspicious of her, and she suspected that was the case for most everyone in the tournament. So, she lightly lifted her hooded blue cloak off of her. 

To Marie’s shock, a pair of furry ears popped out of her head once the hood was removed. That also certainly soured her opinion on the dead archer. _She was a sub-human. That would explain the hood. I’ve also heard sub-humans are strong but dumb. Well, she certainly is both of those things._ Without a second thought in her mind, Marie turned around and left the limp laguz corpse in the dirt. 

Helena was still alive and somehow still conscious, and she had propped herself against one of the hollow’s walls. Hard-packed dirt comforted her back as she leaned against it, panting heavily. Blood once again was dripping from her arms and staining the dirt from all four limbs. Her grey shirt was stained red, and a thin line of blood dribbled from her mouth. 

Marie rushed over to her lover and hastily planted a kiss on her lips. They were far too moist for her liking, which transferred the blood onto the healthy girl’s lips. Her tongue flicked out of her mouth and ran across Helena’s lips before pushing through unresisted.

Helena weakly tried to raise her arms, only for Marie to do so, pushing their heads closer together. Helena’s head squashed her thin hands against the dirt, but she did not care. No first-aid was provided to any of the contestants, so Marie knew this could very well be their last kiss. Or perhaps more… 

Marie explored every region of Helena’s mouth as she moved her head around her. She broke the kiss to bury her head against her lover’s neck, and her fingers glided down to the woman’s breasts. Helena grunted and whispered, “More… We’re not gonna get to do this again…” 

So caught up were they, in the prelude to their lovemaking, that they never spotted the bolt of lightning heading directly for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the last paragraph is terribly written. I'm too lazy to edit. BTW, this is not the sex scene I was referring to.


	7. The Chosen One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this chapter title isn't a typo. This chapter and the last one are different chapters with the same title.

“My Prince!” The tall, purple-haired balding cleric Kayachey slowly chased after his ward, Prince Pelleas. “You are in no condition to be running around like this! One of your symptoms happens to be fatigue, and if that acts up while you are doing this, the results will be painful!”

Pelleas paid no attention to the cleric hired to heal him of his disease as he ran down the halls to the infirmary. He had decided to end this cruel game as quickly as possible, and there was only one way to do that. He needed to decide which one of the ten remaining women would be his wife, and said decision was simple. 

Marie laid on a bare wooden bed, unconscious. She was almost completely naked, covered by only a thin silk robe, apparently the best to let the skin breath. Her weapons had been almost completely destroyed, while her clothes had been far too damaged to be of any further use. Both had been discarded. Pelleas was sure she would be mortified when she woke up, but this was the best way to prevent infection. 

Burn marks lined her entire body. Several bones had been broken, only to be soon healed by Daein’s clerics. She had been unable to breath for a similar reason, until Daein’s intervention, that was. Pelleas held great pride in the efficacy of his nation’s healers; they had kept his new betrothed alive. 

Yes, Pelleas had chosen Marie. It was not a case of love at first sight, as was the case with Elincia. In fact, there was little in the way of love at all. He needed to choose somebody, and according to his father, she was the best choice. She apparently had the strength to wound the mighty King of Daein in battle, which was a formidable feat on its own. She was also far from unattractive. 

The battle would be unable to continue after two of its contestants were severely wounded. The issue was, they both somehow lived the attack and survived past the ten-person mark. As a result, they would be forced to start with eight. But then what? Would they be counted as out or not? In the end, it was decided that the competition would cease. 

“Excuse me?” Pelleas had not even noticed the speaker until they addressed him in a whisper. A silver-haired short mage, dressed in a green shirt, accompanied by a deep purple mini-skirt and boots. By any objective standard, she was dressed quite scantily, but her personality was the exact opposite of what her dress would suggest. She never approached or talked to anyone unless necessary. She ate dinner alone, the same amount of dinner Pelleas’ mother used to eat, she never made any allies, she always stayed as far away from other people as possible during the fighting. 

Ilyana mumbled, “Is there anything else I can do? I already brought both of them here. Should I try and heal more, too?” 

Pelleas ruffled Ilyana’s hair, to which she didn’t respond. “You have no need to worry. You did more than you had to. You could have left them to die, and we would have been none the wiser. But you did not; you alerted our wyverns, and we brought them back here. That was a truly noble act.” 

Ilyana blushed and tossed her gaze at the floor. “Thank you. What do we do, now that the competition is over?” 

_Ah. I never thought of that._ What was he to do, now that the game had concluded? “Well, first, you can inform the other participants of their fates.” He had not publicized the fact that the game was finished. Ilyana was the only participant who knew, at this point. “Then, I suppose you can do anything you want. I have no control over you after that.” 

Ilyana pressed the tips of her fingers together and remained silent as Kayachey burst into the room. “Must you be doing this right now, Prince Pelleas? You can do this after you have eaten your herbs.” 

“Kayachey, I do not wish to sleep right now. I will be fine; trust me.” He dismissed his healer with a swipe of his hand as his gaze fixated on Marie. 

Ilyana mumbled, “I think I will stay here for some time. You have lots of food.” She then shuffled off, presumably to inform the other contestants of their prince’s decision. She was correct; Daein was much richer than one of humble means such as her could comprehend, rich enough to feed a sub-human nation. No small feat, indeed. 

Meanwhile, Pelleas took up a chair and took a seat beside Marie’s inert body. Her condition was stable, so there was no danger of her dying. She had been found beside another woman, a lumberjack who went by the name of Helena, who was also passed out on the opposite bed. Unlike Marie, she was not likely to wake up any time in the next few hours. She had been suffering from several cuts all over her body; arms, legs, and chest. 

Helena’s life had also been saved by the miraculous clerics of Daein, even though her wounds were much more severe. She had lost almost two litres of her blood, leaving her in rather poor condition, to put it mildly. It would take some time to regain all that had been lost. 

But she was not the important woman to Pelleas; that was Marie. 

The candle clock beside Marie’s bedside whittled away an hour before the comatose girl woke up; she fluttered her eyebrows and drowsily mumbled, “Where… where am I? What am I…” She then saw Pelleas and started blushing. 

Pelleas softly asked her, “What do you remember?” 

“Well…” Marie averted her eyes and scratched the back of her head. “I was… with Helena, then… that’s it, really.” Her eyes flew open. She asked frantically, “Helena! Is she still alive?!” She furiously scrambled out of her bed, tossing the dirty white sheets all about in her attempts to escape the silken prison she had been placed in. 

Pelleas bolted from his chair as Marie fell out of her bed. _Oh, no, no, no. Now, I suppose, I am the cleric. Funny, that; now I am in Kayachey’s role._ He called out, “You are in no condition to be out of bed like this!” His words went unheeded as Marie struggled to stand. 

Pelleas’ body was blocking Marie from checking on her friend; normally, the prince would be casually tossed aside, but with the ill girl barely able to stand, he stood like an impenetrable iron wall. He grabbed the patient by the arms in an effort to keep her on her feet. “Helena is alive; you need not worry. She is still unconscious, however, and there is little you can do to revive her right now, nor should you.” 

Marie muttered something under her breath, something that went unheard by Pelleas. She swooned into his arms, presumably unintentionally, and lightly clutched on the front of the prince’s robes. “What… what’s happening? I feel faint…” 

“This is one of the side-effects, I’m afraid. You need to lie down, and quickly.” He guided her to the bed and softly set her down. But it was too late. Her cheeks puffed as she whispered, “Oh shit. Um, I think I need to-“ That indication was enough. Pelleas sprinted across the room for a wooden bucket for her to vomit in. _Why did we not place this closer to the bed?_

Marie swerved around and stumbled out of her bed. Presumably, she was trying to help Pelleas avoid an incident by closing the distance. 

It barely succeeded, as Pelleas slid the bucket directly beneath her chin immediately before she dry heaved into the bucket. She had not eaten or drank in the past day, so pretty much nothing came out of her mouth except a trickle of drool. 

Marie mumbled, “Thank you.” as Pelleas picked her up and dropped her on the bed once again, setting the bucket on her lap.

Marie asked Pelleas, “Why are you here?” 

_Oh, right._ “Why, to greet my new betrothed.” 

Marie turned red. “Wh-Wh-What? I’m your… That means…” 

“Yes, you won.” Pelleas lightly placed his hands on Marie’s shoulders. “Now, I should properly greet my new wife, should I not?” He gently planted a kiss on Marie’s cheek and ran his hands down her arms, only backing away when she shouted and flinched away from him. 

Marie shouted, “Ah! What is… my burns!” and tried to push Pelleas away from her. She failed, but Pelleas backed away anyway. _Of course… I am truly an idiot. She is still suffering from her wounds._

Pelleas sputtered out, “I am so sorry, Marie. I completely forgot! I cannot handle myself around women… I shall leave you, then. Do not worry; our marriage will be far in the future.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The brown-haired, elderly halberdier leaned back on a wooden fencepost and yawned. He complained to the red dragon tactician standing beside him, “Are you sure the princess and her band are here? I grow bored of watching the unmoving forest.”

Ena replied, tilting her head in confusion, “Emil, you are supposed to be keeping a watch on the back line, ensuring the Gallians do not attack us from behind. Perhaps that would alleviate your boredom?” The question, as far as Emil could tell, was asked genuinely, but the interrogating note behind it made it clear it was also a subtle reprimand for his delegation of the task to some of his men under Sergeant Kamura. 

But Emil was far too prideful to admit his neglect of his duty. Instead, he dismissed Ena’s concerns. “I am in far too exalted of a position to do such a mundane task.” 

Ena replied, “Is this task any more dignified, Lieutenant?” 

Emil acknowledged her point with a grunt. “Why does General Petrine get to have all the fun? She is to duel Gawain of the Four Riders, and what am I to do? I have to pick off a tiny band of mercenaries.” 

Ena flashed Emil a wry smile. “I suppose you wish to take it up with Lady Petrine, then? She is looking for a meal, last I checked.” That rather macabre joke silenced Emil. He had no desire to do so, and the rumours surrounding Ena… he feared her as much as he feared General Petrine. 

Ena raised her voice then and called to her soldiers. “Soldiers of Daein, form up! Today, we capture the princess! She and her escorts have been determined to be inside that forest.” Dark blue cloak flapping in the light breeze, the commander grandly pointed to the gathering of trees. 

“I shall lead you into the forest, to smoke them out.” Irony was laden in Ena’s smile as she turned to Emil. He had little idea what Ena was smiling about, but it did not help his perception of her either way. 

“Emil, take two dozen soldiers and guard the border. This should be no problem for your skills, correct?” Emil had no response. He could either place himself at the head of a larger force, obtaining more glory at the cost of having his prowess insulted in front of all his men, or do as he was told, suffering yet more indignity and boredom. 

With a grimace emblazoned upon his face, Emil nodded and rounded up the necessary men. And women, he supposed. For some ungodly reason, Ashnard had allowed women to join the Daein army, even command other men. All part of his ludicrous philosophy of strength. He would not even punish insubordination among his own officers. 

While Ena led the bulk of the army into the forest, Emil stood on guard at the wooden gate blocking the princess’ way to Gallia. Yes, he supposed, they could leap the fence surrounding it, but his troops would easily stop any attempts at that. And they could not go around, for the river was in the way. The river had to be crossed to enter Gallia, no matter what. 

_Ugh… This will be crushingly boring, I am sure. Easy, yes, but so incredibly dull._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Queen Almedha had arrived in the Crimean capital, ready to reunite with her son and husband. She rode in on the back of a wyvern, driven by a nondescript brown-haired man with an eyepatch. 

Ashnard bellowed his thanks to the wyvern rider, who had not bothered to provide a name. He then flew off, leaving the royal family to converse. 

Ashnard looked on as his wife wrapped his son in an extremely tight embrace; Pelleas’ new wife, despite now being well, had been barred from greeting the queen. Ashnard suspected her preference was to stay inside regardless, so it posed little problem. Almedha did not do the same to Ashnard himself, although whether that was because of his dragon-scale armour or due to their… strained relations, he neither knew nor cared. 

The dragon queen of Daein immediately noticed her prince’s pallor. “Pelleas? What has happened? You are ill.” 

“Ah, yes.” Pelleas averted his gaze and awkwardly scratched at his cheek. “I have been taken ill, but you need not worry, Mother. Kayachey has treated me quite well, and I am recovering quickly.” Almedha sighed in relief. 

Ashnard chuckled. “Do you not have something else to say, Pelleas?” 

“Ah, yes. I am now engaged, Mother.” 

Almedha’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Truly? Who is the lucky woman?” 

Ashnard interrupted his son’s reply, “The strongest woman we could find. In fact, she managed to wound me in battle. Quite a remarkable feat, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Almedha only sighed. She likely knew how Ashnard had selected his son’s bride, and it was clear she disapproved of it. _My wife does not understand the sheer brilliance of a man or woman’s fight to live. It truly brings out the best in them. A shame, too._ “You should at least meet her before passing judgement. She is not at all like you believe; an extremely unlikely candidate to win.” Ashnard then shrugged his massive shoulders. “My son mystifies me more every day.” 

Almedha smiled widely and tossed an arm around Pelleas’ shoulders. “I am sure he does, my king. Now, will you accompany me to my quarters, or should my prince do it?” She pressed her lips to Pelleas’ cheek, causing him to squirm. 

Ashnard waved his wife off. “I believe I have a different appointment to attend to. We can speak more later.” He turned to see the Black Knight clanking towards him. “Perfect timing, General.”

Almedha nodded in the Black Knight’s general directions and hurriedly started walking to Melior castle, Pelleas following. The Daein prince called back to his father, “I shall see you at dinner, Father.” 

Ashnard did not respond to his son: in fact, he barely heard him. This was because the Black Knight was in the process of delivering much more interesting and relevant news. “Sir Gawain is dead.” 

This news made the King of Daein light up with glee. “Oh-ho! Your insubordination has created a most entertaining result! Why did you do it? A personal grudge, perhaps? Revenge? Following the orders of some greater master? Simply because you could?” 

The Black Knight remained silent through his king’s barrage of questions, completely stoic under his towering helmet. When Ashnard finally let up, he only answered, “I do not have to justify myself to you.” _It seems I have correctly guessed his responsibility. Of course, he is the only person I could imagine defeating Sir Gawain._

After the Black Knight’s remark, Ashnard burst out into a spate of loud, cruel laughter. “Any lesser king may have had you executed for such insubordination, you know. Most lesser men do not take kindly to being disrespected by a subordinate.” The general did not respond to the taunt. Both powerful men knew neither posed an immediate threat to them: they were in an alliance of convenience, nothing more. 

“However, he did not have the medallion. His daughter did, a girl called Mist. I would have taken it effortlessly, but I did not wish to bring a confrontation with the lion king.” _He has a squire’s grasp on diplomacy, I must give him that._

“Good. I will find a way to get that medallion on my own; your services in that respect are no longer needed. I do not presume to reign over your free time.” Ashnard waved one spiked glove to dismiss the Black Knight. He was confident that the enigmatic general would do nothing to hurt him, if only out of self-interest.


	8. The Invasion of Gallia

The court of Caineghis, the Lion King, entered its next session. The mammoth lion laid on his straw bed, which of course had to be large enough to fit a beast of his size. He was barely awake, his eyes flitting open on occasion to behold any visitors. Lethe and Ranulf had taken the Crimean princess into their custody, so Caineghis was expecting a visit from the foreign royalty at any time.

The lion king’s right-hand man, Giffca, laid by his side. He was younger than his king by a few years, but the age gap was not significant. The king was approximately seven decades of age, and Giffca was sixty-six years old. And yet, each had approximately thirty years left to live, provided all went well. Laguz lived much longer than their human counterparts. 

The king’s eleventh son, Skrimir, was also present in his father’s court. Caineghis, as the alpha male of his pack, had fathered many sons and daughters with a variety of females. He had lost count long ago, but he presumed it was somewhere around thirty. Giffca, on the other hand, had no such desires. He had always been considered an odd one among the beast laguz for his tastes, but his loyal service to the king had been considered enough reason to overlook that. 

Skrimir was rutting on an anonymous lioness, one not notable enough for the more important members of the court to know her name. Growls from both partners echoed from that corner of the room as they mated. Caineghis was disappointed in his son, but he was also too focused on his relaxation to care. _At least sire me another grandchild, if you are going to do this in public._

Many of Caineghis’ children had died prematurely in one power struggle or another, and some of the sons had continued to fail in becoming alpha males of their own packs. The remaining children, both male and female, had sired many grandchildren of their own. At least sixty or seventy, for sure. 

The dynasty of King Caineghis was numerous, even if many of its members were in no way relevant. Several other dynasties, mostly Lions as well as a few Tigers and even fewer Cats, lounged around Caineghis’ court, all in their animal forms. Skrimir and his mate were the only ones locked in mating; these things were not to be done in public unless necessary. 

All of these laguz became their human forms when Ranulf and Lethe entered, escorting the princess and her companions, a lowly band of mercenaries. _If they made it this far, they must be strong. My respect has already been earned._

Some took longer than others, including the lethargic king, and Skrimir stayed in his lion form, animalistic growls increasing in volume. The laguz ignored him, but the humans did no such thing. Elincia looked scandalized, while the young blue-haired boy beside her and the tall red-haired woman pointedly averted their gazes. The younger of the two humans looked extremely uncomfortable. 

Caineghis stood up and transformed into his upright form, clothes thankfully included. His booming voice greeted the princess, “Welcome, human Princess Elincia Ridell Crimea. I am King Caineghis of Gallia.” 

Elincia stiffly curtsied. “Greetings, King Caineghis.” She then took a knee, head lowered, and continued, “I know I am in no position to be asking for such a generous gift, but I was dearly hoping you would spare me the kindness of asylum.” Her movements were overly formal and robotic. Her tone displayed little emotion other than artificial humility. In other words, she had sorely misjudged the atmosphere of the laguz kingdom. 

Caineghis used his best paternal voice, a voice he had not used in many years, when addressing the princess. The fall of Crimea was widely known, as was the death of its King Ramon and the disappearance of Duke Renning. They were, as far as the lion king knew, Elincia’s only close family, leaving her with nobody. 

“You need not strike such a tone with me, Princess. You may relax; my courtiers have no intention of hurting you. At least, they will not now, for fear of my wrath.” The message was clear; for now, Elincia had his blessing. It was a blessing that presumably extended to her escort as well. As he swept his gaze across the room, he bared his fangs for all to see. 

Caineghis shook his auburn mane and let out a mighty bellow. The humans backed away from him on instinct, their tempers flaring quickly, only for them to soften their combative poses when it became clear he was laughing. “Now, introduce me to your companions, would you?” 

The red-haired woman did the honours for herself, rather than the princess. Caineghis found himself slightly surprised at this behaviour, coming from humans. Normally, the important ones spoke for the unimportant. He could tell from both their unsettled demeanour and general dress that they were of no noble rank, so it was refreshing to hear them take charge of the negotiations. 

“My name is Titania, of the Greil Mercenaries. And this,” she gestured with a gloved hand to the younger blue-haired boy, “is Ike.” 

Caineghis nodded in understanding. “So, Titania, you are the leader of these ‘Greil Mercenaries’? I notice your name is not Greil.”

Ranulf snickered at something, while Lethe only rolled her eyes. Ike soon explained both reactions. “No, actually. I am the leader. Greil was my father. I recently inherited the company from him, after he…” Ike averted his gaze. Caineghis’ eyes, the perceptive eyes of a predator, glimpsed tears welling up in the corners of his startling blue eyes. 

Titania picked up where her leader left off. “As was said, it was recent that he died, and it hurt us all. Please understand if he is a little emotional during his stay.” 

Ranulf again snickered, this time with his king not being the butt of the joke. He jokingly chided Titania, “You don’t need to worry. Caineghis isn’t one to judge a man over a bit of emotion! Long as it doesn’t hinder him in battle, doesn’t hurt his character any.” 

Caineghis testily said, “Thank you for summarizing that, Ranulf.” 

Titania casually observed, “It is not often one makes that mistake, at least from my experience. Even when Greil was on an expedition, people have always mistaken someone else for the leader.” The woman then sighed, flaming red braid falling over her shoulder. 

Caineghis responded before Ranulf decided to once again become his mouthpiece. “Worry not. In Gallia, we do not let distinctions such as male or female harm our true potential for battle!” The king clenched his fist and bared his teeth in a confident grin, an action which was followed by a loud cheer arising from the sides of the grand hall. Not a single laguz, it seemed, disagreed with the king. A more accurate statement would be to say that none were brave enough to disagree openly. 

Elincia timidly started on a sentence, only to stop immediately. Upon being beckoned by Ranulf to speak, she began, “Um, please excuse me.” _Good. She is much more natural, if still on edge._ “Could we resume the topic of my asylum, please?” 

“Yes,” Ike spoke up, surprisingly enough. It did not seem as if he was particularly eager to do so, but his acknowledgement as the leader must have given him a boost in confidence. “Can the laguz find it in their hearts to help the princess of a fallen nation?” He raised a singular eyebrow, as if in challenge. 

Ranulf hastily exclaimed, “I like this one! He caught on to our true name quickly enough!” 

“Pah,” Lethe spoke for the first time. “Humans are all the same, regardless of if they use the right words. I wish them to be gone from our kingdom as soon as possible, or I might make it so myself!” 

Lethe’s vigour was reassuring, if slightly misguided. _Glad to see her most recent pregnancy has not dampened her fire any. A mother of three, yet she has not been tarnished by it in the least._ Caineghis held no shame about his open lust for female laguz of many ages and species. It was completely natural for them to think in such a manner; only other bonds of matehood and difference in species or subspecies restrained most laguz, male or female. 

“I am afraid Lethe will soon have her wish granted, for I cannot keep you here.” 

Elincia’s face immediately fell at the sad news. “Surely you do not support Daein?” 

“I do not like having to make such a decision, either, but the reasoning is simple. If we lend you our protection, Daein will have cause to invade us. Given who their king is, they will take advantage of the opportunity, no questions asked. That will cause the bird laguz, those of Kilvas and Phoenicis, to join the war. After that, what option does Begnion have? Their people will never accept them standing by while the ‘savage sub-humans’-“ At this point, Caineghis growled and clenched his fists, and at the uttering of the slurs, the court erupted in a tornado of whispers, many of them likely unfavourable, “drive the last of the other ‘civilized’ beorc nations to extinction. From that one simple decision, almost the entire continent will erupt into war, and that is provided the dragons of Goldoa take no part, which is far from guaranteed.” 

Having it explained so bluntly, Elincia nodded in a grim understanding. “I understand and accept your generosity.” 

Lethe, spite and bitterness in her voice, asked, “I suppose we will be tasked with escorting them back to the Crimean border?” Elincia’s eyes lit up with fear upon hearing that statement. 

Upon receiving a nod from Caineghis, Lethe and Ranulf began to escort the three humans out of the court. However, their effort would soon be brought to a halt by Ike. He stomped up to Caineghis, fire lurking beneath his azure pools, and started chastising him. “You wish to escort us to the Crimean border?! That is Daein-occupied territory! You are sending the princess to die! Do you understand that, uncaring old man?!” A collective gasp was emitted from the court. 

Ike was taking a massive risk by insulting such a powerful man. Titania quickly rushed forward to grab Ike and apologize for her young and brash commander, but Caineghis quickly stopped her with one giant paw. 

“You have daring; I will say that.” Caineghis had previously been smiling, but his expression soon reverted to a grim stare as his eyes bore into Ike’s. “What you say may be true. However, the life of a singular princess is a fine trade for the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers in the war that would otherwise ensue. Now, be off with you. If we meet again, I will hold no grudges.” 

Ike stared into the lion king’s eyes for a few seconds more before storming off, leaving the court aghast. He was followed by a furious Lethe and smirking Ranulf. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ashnard and Almedha had taken a short trip outside the capital, to the castle of Duke Felirae. Ludveck, the ruler of Felirae, was a Crimean noble who had submitted to Daein upon their invasion. Ashnard would have had him executed for his cowardice had he not had the chance to meet the Duke in person. 

Ashnard was supremely impressed by Ludveck’s cold and calculating nature, as well as his grasp of politics. He knew the Daein king well, and as a result, he had been able to keep both his estates and his life. 

But his new liege had more plans for him; he would be able to rest on his laurels no longer. 

Ludveck greeted the royal couple outside his castle, dressed in a full suit of silver armour. A massive tomahawk axe hung from his waist, showing his readiness to greet anyone who dared do him harm with steel. “Greetings, my king.” He wisely kneeled before Ashnard, knowing he was no match for him in a duel. “What brings you to my estate today?” The king was not fooled for a second by his mask of politeness. The ice in his tone was displayed for all to hear. 

Ashnard did not particularly care, however; it was fun, playing these games with his mind and the minds of others. So stimulating, knowing how much they feared for their lives. And the ones that did not… well, that was even more exciting. “Ludveck, we should speak inside. I would not want any Crimean rebels listening in, after all.” 

Ludveck’s servants had great trouble attempting to find a chair large enough to contain the king’s massive frame. He, like his vassal before him, only removed his scaled armour to sleep. No matter how hot it may have been, it was worth it for the protection it afforded him. 

Almedha, in comparison, needed a much smaller chair, so the ordinary ones around the ornate and personal sitting room table served sufficiently. She sat down on the plush fabric and stared Ludveck down, her face composed and stoic. Extremely queenly, at least by beorc standards. The laguz likely did not hold such standards for their royalty, being the… interesting specimen they were. 

Ashnard towered over both his wife and Ludveck, as he was not yet seated, while the two of them were. Ludveck had a custom-made oaken chair ready for him to sit in, but Ashnard had no such luck. Why should he have? He had not announced his visit. 

Ludveck’s wooden chair creaked under his weight as he leaned forward and pressed the tips of his fingers together. “So, what proposal do you have for me?” His voice had lost any semblance of humility, instead coming off as emotionless, fitting for the man whom it belonged to. The voice was sharp enough to split skin, Ashnard reckoned. It sounded as if he was sharpening a blade, an obsidian knife, prepared to sink into the nearest unsuspecting ribcage. 

Ashnard, on the other hand, took no such liberties with his tone. He did not care if he was overheard; the move inside was at his wife’s prior request. “First, I would like you to meet my wife. Almedha, dear, this is Duke Ludveck of Felirae; he will be the main leader, aside from me, for the campaign.” 

Neither of the other people in the room had heard of any active military campaign; there were the Daein patrols sent to track down the princess, but those were unofficial, led by overzealous soldiers or nobles. Ludveck raised a single questioning eyebrow, while Almedha asked, distaste evident, “What campaign, perchance? Do you perhaps intend on provoking another nation, this one stronger than Crimea?” 

“I am glad you asked, my dear Queen. Crimea proved little challenge; our armies have only grown stronger in the aftermath of its fall. Thus, I have decided to… expand my horizons, shall we say.” 

Ludveck’s icy words continued to provide a nice breeze as he guessed, “Gallia? You intend to wipe out the beasts?” 

“Correct, Felirae. And you shall help us, with by far the largest army of all Crimea’s remaining nobility.”

Almedha attacked the idea almost immediately. “That is a suicidal idea. Are you not aware of the thick jungles of Gallia? Or of their overwhelmingly high population? The beast laguz breed incessantly, the lot of them. You might be able to survive; I cannot say the same for your soldiers.” 

“Ah, but I will be present, along with Bryce, the Wishblade. You underestimate the quality of our troops, my lady, and their commanders as well.” Ashnard absentmindedly stroked his deep blue goatee, deep in thought. “What say you, Ludveck?” 

“I concur with the Queen. I do not wish to sacrifice my power on a failed military expedition.” 

“Oh?” Ashnard’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “Is this insubordination I detect?” 

Ludveck only shrugged in response. “If I am to die regardless, I may as well do so in the comfort of my own home.” His dark brown eyes, the colour of hazelnuts, bore into Ashnard’s as he stared up at his king. He was completely confident in his own invincibility; his small smirk betrayed him. 

Ashnard roared with laughter at his subordinate’s daring. “You have an excellent read on me; you have nothing to fear. Do as you wish; I shall not harm you. I can guarantee nothing on my subordinates’ behalf, however.” Ashnard turned and stalked slowly out of the room, his laughs echoing behind him. He hoped it had quite a jarring effect on the general. 

Queen Almedha quickly stood from her chair and sprinted after her husband. His long strides made that more difficult than it needed to be. 

Almedha harshly reprimanded Ashnard, “If you attack one laguz, the rest will rush to their defence. You know how we are about these things; not at all like you beorc. I warn you for your own good. Do not provoke the dragons of Goldoa, or all the continent will suffer.” 

Ashnard had had enough of the ignorance of the people around him. _Nobody. Nobody is intelligent enough to see the grand design._ He spun around, hand flying into Almedha’s face in the process. The dragon woman flinched upon receiving the backhand but did not fall. She did not cry or scream, the things women usually did in these situations. Ashnard respected the sheer willpower that came with that response. 

Ashnard’s eyes lit up with savage glee as Almedha stared him down. The king bragged, “That is the ideal. You have no sense of scope, my dear queen. We will attack the laguz, they will attack back and bring Begnion’s wrath upon them! The entire continent will be embroiled in war, and only the strongest shall survive!” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was an absolutely miserable day in Gallia. The jungle that trademarked the country was not yet present, for Ilyana was sprinting in from Crimea. She had not gotten far into the laguz country, and she was already exhausted. 

Rain relentlessly pounded down on the small thunder mage as she ran across open plains, with as of yet few trees for cover. Her skirt was soaking wet, water dripping off it onto the toes of her boots. Those boots, surprisingly water-resistant, splashed through the mud one step at a time, leaving muddy footprints with every step. 

She continued to run, not knowing where else to go. She had left the former Crimean capital of Melior with a merchant caravan that she had become friends with; twin brothers Jorge and Daniel, along with the smith Muston and the apothecary Aimee. Unfortunately, she had been separated from them by a bandit attack, sending them scattering to the wind. She hoped they were alive and unhurt. 

Meanwhile, she had blindly retreated after it became clear to her she couldn’t win. This had shortly proved to be a mistake, but she had no idea where she went or where to find the merchants.

She may have been wet and miserable, but both paled in comparison to the worst problem: she was hungry. She had not eaten in many hours, and she was extremely hungry. Her stomach growled like a feral beast sub-human. 

After more running, the thought of, _Maybe I can eat this mud._ entered her head. She could at least obtain water from the mud, so she was in no danger of dying any time soon. Living in complete and utter agony, however, was very much a worry. 

She eventually came across another person seemingly lost in the storm; a silver-haired man with a map. He was lightly armoured, donning a mail chest plate with a tight shirt over it. Beneath that was a pair of combat pants, tight enough to show off his muscular legs. He wore boots just like Ilyana’s, only white instead of light purple. Both his hands were occupied with his rapidly wetting map, but Ilyana spotted two swords on his belt, one of which contained a wicked curve. She imagined she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that sword. 

“Excuse me.” She called for the man in what she imagined to be a loud voice, only to hear no response. _I should get closer. The rain probably drowned that out._ She marched over, squelching sounds emitting with every step, and poked the man in his well-toned abdominal muscles. “Excuse me.” 

The man looked up from his map to see nobody. He then looked down to see Ilyana, inadvertently giving his chest muscles a massage from frequent poking. “Um, hello. Do you want something?” 

“Food. Do you have any food?” 

“Hm? Oh, I think I do, actually.” The mysterious man reached into a satchel and pulled out a slab of salted meat. “Here. Don't worry about me; I have more for myself.” 

Ilyana downed the meat in about twenty seconds, startling her feeder. “More?” 

“For myself. I have to eat, too. Don’t worry, we can find more food once this storm’s up. Now, I should focus on finding somewhere to rest.” He set off but was immediately stopped dead by Ilyana’s iron grip on his arm. “Oh? Sorry, you can come too. We can make our introductions on the walk.” 

He made good on the latter promise. Once they were moving, he introduced himself. “My name is Zihark. I’m a merc from Daein.” Zihark shook his head, sending his magnificent silver hair flying back and forth in the air. “Hired to help with a Daein campaign, but got myself lost on the way. What about you?” 

Ilyana stopped herself from getting lost in Zihark’s deep blue eyes and averted her gaze, sending it directly down to the ground. She pressed her fingertips together and answered shyly, “Um, I was with a merchant caravan, but we were separated in a bandit attack. I ran here, and now I have no idea where I am.” 

Zihark’s arm roped around Ilyana’s back and pulled her closer. “Let’s find some cover, then, and make our way out of this mess in the morning.”

They eventually entered the famed Gallian jungle, which prompted Ilyana’s realization that they were in Gallia. She had thought prior that she was still in Crimea. Eyes wide, she mumbled, “Oh, we’re in the sub-human kingdom. Do you think we should keep a watch?” 

Zihark’s gaze bore down on her; an annoyed one, to say the least. “The term is Laguz. They are called Laguz, not ‘sub-humans.’ Got that?” 

Ilyana shrugged. “Alright. Laguz it is. I don’t really care all that much.” 

Zihark, with a twinge of annoyance still in his tone, digressed, “These are the wildlands of Gallia. We have nothing to worry about; no clans of laguz make their homes anywhere near here.” 

“How do you know so much about Gallia, anyway? Us humans are supposed to stay away, right?” 

“As I said, I’m a mercenary. A merc. I visit many different places.” Zihark averted his steely gaze from Ilyana as he said this, and he nervously wrung his hands. Obviously, something was missing, but Ilyana was too famished and exhausted to care. 

Ilyana and Zihark, the two wandering travellers, finally found a tree to rest under after what felt like hours. It was probably significantly less time than that, but the lack of sun made it extremely difficult to tell. The sun had been blotted out by the storm many hours prior. 

Raindrops still splatted on their heads on occasion, and the ground was as muddy as ever, but they were able to find some reasonably dry spots that did not completely soak their clothes, or rather, whatever was left unsoiled. 

Ilyana had no energy left in her; even the small snack from Zihark earlier had only bought her a few extra minutes. With the last of her strength, she crawled into Zihark’s lap and fell asleep there, the larger man’s frame protecting her from the rain. 

They were woken up by a troop of five unknown men, all armoured and carrying lances. “G’morning, ya vagabonds! Feel like explainin’ what you're doin’ here?” 

“Hm? Oh, Daein soldiers. Thank the goddess. My name is Zihark. I was hired by your army for your campaign.” 

“Oh, the merc’s got himself a little wench, does he?” 

“Not his anymore! My sword needs a sheath!” 

“Ah, shut up, Karl. Let the guy have his girl!” 

Ilyana didn’t appreciate all these men arguing over her. She quietly interjected, “Um, Zihark and I haven’t done that. We just met each other yesterday. Do you have any food?” 

Karl attempted to interject, but he was verbally beaten down by his companions. “Yeah, we do, back at the base. Come on, you two.” 

Ilyana meekly followed, Zihark trailing behind her. The short girl was excluded from the discussion the soldiers engaged Zihark in, but she was privy to it nonetheless. 

A different soldier, not Karl, told Zihark, “We’re taking Gebal Castle, this patrol. The princess and her escort are hiding there, so we’re flushing ‘em out. Don’t know why the sub-humans’ve got castles and things, but there you go.” 

A soldier behind him snarked, “Ay, Welf, methinks you’re putting too much faith in ‘em! Probably just stole it from Crimea a while back, eh?” Zihark rolled his eyes at their blatant display of disdain for the laguz, but Ilyana didn’t really care. She just wanted to get back to the merchants, preferably with a full stomach. 

The soldiers laughed at the third one’s claim, while Zihark very much did not. He asked, “Will Ilyana be fighting as well?” 

Welf answered, “Yeah, she will. Daein accepts women in the army, so that’s no excuse. You join up with a patrol, you’ve got to fight. Won’t treat her any different from the rest of ‘em, promise.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ranulf, Lethe, and their respective groups of laguz warriors lounged under the protective shade of the thick jungle, hiding from the furious storm going on above them. _Will this rain ever let up?!_ Ranulf was sick and tired of sitting over the Greil Mercenaries and the princess. No matter how much he liked them, he was not willing to waste away any more days while they sat there feeling sorry for themselves. He had half a mind to march into Gebal Castle and give them a good talking-to, move them along. He would likely have done so were it not for Caineghis’ explicit orders to dissociate from them whenever possible. 

There was at least one good thing about this deployment, however, provided the weather was anything but rain; he had much time to spend frolicking with his friends. The royal duties that came with being the most important cat in the nation were exhausting and left him with little free time. This combined with the fact of being a father to three young kits meant he had previously had little time to catch up with his friends from kittenhood. 

The mother of his kits, Lethe, sauntered through the marshy ground in her human form. She was furiously scratching behind her ears, presumably to remove any bugs that might have gathered there on her latest patrol. Their kits were barely a year old, but that was considered old enough for them to go without their parents for a week. A wet nurse had been assigned to feed them in the time Lethe was gone. 

As scions of two of the foremost cat clans, Lethe and Ranulf’s kits would continue to be important for much of their lives, until they had kits of their own, and so on. The mating of the two cats marked a merging of their two clans into something much more powerful. Not that the society of the lions and tigers cared much; cats had to fight tooth and claw to even obtain a seat in the court, as evidenced by the fact that only Ranulf, Lethe, and Lethe’s younger sister Lyre had done so, the latter on her elder sister’s explicit request. 

“Grr…” Lethe’s tail waved back and forth rapidly as she swatted the air for bugs. “I have forgotten how irritating the jungle in this area can be. How glad I am that none of our clans live here.” It was true; the area near the Crimean border was mostly devoid of any laguz, minus a few loners that showed up on occasion. As a result, the local wildlife was flourishing, furthering the cycle of it being an undesirable place for Gallian citizens to live. Said wildlife was, for the most part, hiding from the massive army of cats, tigers, and lions on its doorstep. Very few lions would deign to serve under cats, but some were either humble or unlucky enough to do so. 

Ranulf did his best to put on a smile, a half-hearted maneuver at best. “Hey,” he purred, “I’m having no problems down here. Why don’t you come and join me?” 

Lethe grimaced. “I am in no mood for lovemaking, thank you. We need to be vigilant in case of an attack. Have you forgotten this, Ranulf?” 

“Oh, lighten up.” Ranulf stood up, transforming into his human form. He shook the droplets of water off his coat. He then wrapped an arm around Lethe’s shoulders, prompting an eye-roll from his mate. “Perhaps we should find a more private area. No need to cause a scene in public, is there?” 

Lethe gently pushed Ranulf away and stalked over to her subordinate Mordecai. A tiger, Mordecai was in the rare position of being subordinate to a physically weaker animal. He was an extremely humble man, and also pacifistic. Both were odd qualities for a Gallian to carry, to put it mildly. 

Mordecai stalked through the marsh, giant paws leaving giant pawprints in the mud. He greeted Lethe, “Good afternoon, Lethe? Did you wish to speak with me?” 

“Mostly so I can have another companion, aside from my mate. But yes, I did. It is your turn to survey the fort. Report back to us when you are done on what you spot.” 

And yet, Mordecai had not even left when another laguz came storming in; another tiger. This tigress rode through the bushes in her animal form, breaking their branches shortly before trampling them and ripping vines from their trees. 

The tigress, a woman by the name of Bastia, growled, “Daein forces have laid siege to Gebal Castle! They have launched a strike into Gallia, and this force is at the forefront!” 

“Oh, on Altina’s name…” Ranulf sighed. “They launched the strike anyway. Perhaps we should alert the king that his strategy has failed.” 

Lethe hissed. “Foolish of him, to assume these humans would respect our borders! We will attack the castle, relieve the siege, and drive these humans back into their own territory!” She then shifted into her cat form and let out a rallying cry. 

Ranulf shrugged, morphed into his cat form, and added, “We need to check the border after this as well. Only their goddess knows what those guys could have done by the time we get to them.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The battle was still raging when the laguz arrived, surprisingly enough. The cramped passageways outside Gebal Castle formed a labyrinth that made it much easier for the castle’s defenders to block off their attackers. 

As far as Ranulf knew, only ten people were residing inside the castle, four of whom were non-combatants. That meant a total of six people had to fight off however many Daeinites were present. Bastia had mentioned a total of exactly forty-two Daein soldiers before the battle’s beginning. _I don’t think we’ll have much time left at this rate._

The good news was that the Gallian force consisted of over one hundred laguz, enough to effortlessly overwhelm the Daeinites. Lethe ordered Mordecai to take two dozen laguz and surround their flanks, making it impossible for them to leave. The cat commander herself, as well as Ranulf, charged into the fort with the rest of the army. 

It was, frankly, a slaughter. Ranulf leaped into battle, slashing a Daein soldier’s throat with his hind legs and landing onto the head of a second. He screamed and frantically swatted at his head, trying to toss the blue cat off of him. It did not work; Ranulf kept his perch, only leaping off when it suited him. 

Lethe, in the meantime, had confronted a silver-haired human, who wielded a wickedly curved sword. Two of her she-cat companions had chased off a short thunder mage, a move which inspired some ire on the part of the taller man. 

The swordfighter impaled an axe fighter through the chest, carving a slice through his chest and sending him to the ground. He then whipped around to fight his new opponent, only to take a step back. He lowered his weapon and started… profusely apologizing, for some reason. 

“My apologies. I was not aware I would be fighting laguz for this job. I shall take my leave, as soon as I find my companion.” He turned around but was stopped temporarily by Lethe. 

“Human! Why would you lay down your weapon?!” Lethe attempted to put on a tone of anger, but she sounded far more confused than anything else. It made no sense that a human, a Daeinite no less, would refuse to fight a laguz.

“I once fell in love with a cat that looked much like you. My fellow beorc drove her to death, a crime I have never forgiven.” He spun on his heel and retreated, his feet splashing in the water as he ran. 

Lethe spat on the ground in disgust. However, she did not follow the mysterious pacifistic human. “Tsk. As if I would ever love a human. I cannot say I am surprised at her fate, however.”

Ranulf marched up and shrugged. “What do you say we finish off the Daeinites? I’m willing to bet there aren’t many left.”

Ranulf was completely correct in his assumption. Lethe clawed a bloody scar across one soldier’s chest, while Ranulf leaped on another, biting her throat out. After that, the blood-stained cats stood up from their kills and took in the gory scenery. Very few enemy soldiers remained. 

The Daein soldiers had almost been cleared out by the time Ranulf’s eyes focused upon a self-important man who looked to be a commander of sorts. He marked a very stout figure, no doubt helped by the armour that sheathed almost his entire body. His cinnamon-coloured hair was smoothed out on top of his head, and he had a slim beard in the same colour. 

This man looked extremely panicked, for fairly obvious reasons. He was calling to the pittance of his soldiers that remained, “Retreat! Retreat to Tatana!” 

Ranulf leaped from a castle wall to deftly land in front of the small group of soldiers. Three laguz soldiers, two cats and a tiger, followed their leader onto the marshy plains. The cat commander sassily retorted, “So you’re attacking Tatana as well? Good to know. Thanks for the information, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to die.” Ranulf, still in his cat form, lowered himself to the ground and hissed. 

“Sub-human! Fight me like a man!” The brown-haired leader man raised his spear and levered it in Ranulf’s face. “Weapon on weapon, without your dirty sub-human teeth and claws!” 

“Really? I may as well ask you to fight me with your bare hands. These are my weapons.” Ranulf was being surprisingly diplomatic, given the barbarity of the insults thrown at him. “Now, let’s begin.” 

The duel began with circling. Each fighter taking anxious paces around each other, trying to determine the other’s weaknesses. Aside from the obvious vulnerable point at the head, Ranulf’s opponent was also very slow. If Ranulf so desired, he could end up right beside his opponent, after enough circling.

One of the soldiers not participating in the duel shouted, “You can do this, Sergeant Kamura! Roast that sub-human on the end of your spear!” Ranulf hoped the soldier was speaking metaphorically, but he did at least know his victim’s name now. _Kamura. Never heard a name like that before._

Ranulf made the first move, leaping into battle, claws extended. Kamura tried to swat him aside with his spear, but the nimble cat instead wrapped himself around the weapon, necessitating that Kamura drop it. _Perfect._

Ranulf leaped from the spear before it hit the ground, now leaving Kamura without a weapon. _I almost feel sorry for this._ Ranulf did not pity his opponent in the slightest. 

Ranulf was soon all over Kamura, claws hooking into his thick armour. Ranulf bit down into Kamura’s throat, hard. Blood gushed out of the wound, and Ranulf closed his eyes to avoid being sprayed. His claws dug into the newly uncovered stomach of his human victim, bursting it. 

Ranulf leaped off the dying Kamura, blood and stomach acid gushing out of him. He bent over and clutched at his organs, spitting curses at his killer. Ranulf saw no need to finish him off, especially considering the soldiers surrounding him. He shifted into his human form, blood still running off his feet and being absorbed by the ground. 

“Get them.” Ranulf pointed his soldiers to the Daeinites, who were busy trying to prop up their dying leader. He left them to it while he marched back to the fortress. _We really need to get them out of here now; the fewer Daein invasions, the better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not furry bait. I swear, I'm coming up with something original and deep here. I swear.


	9. The Royal Couple

“Marie.” Pelleas lightly rapped on his betrothed’s door, fully expecting her to be sleeping. Nonetheless, the royal couple needed to make an appearance for the first time in public. They had barely spoken to each other since the day the marriage was announced, and the distance between them was clear to any member of the court who had bothered to pay attention. 

Instead, the door swung open almost immediately, and Pelleas was greeted by a tired Marie, who was dressed in a silken nightgown that did not leave nearly enough skin to the imagination. “Ah! Pelleas!” Her eyes shot open from their half-closed state, and she flushed a deep red. “Good morning… you shouldn’t have to see any of this… I’ll get myself dressed.” She then closed the door in Pelleas’ face.

_I should have seen that coming. Well, it does seem as if we are off to a terrible start this morning._ Marie then opened her door, clad in a modest auburn dress that far outstripped her figure. It seemed that even a month of rich high-class food had done little to fix her wire-thin physique. Pelleas suspected this was a purposeful effort on his future wife’s part, which was truly a shame. It was healthy for high-class women to don some bulk, for it showed they could afford more food than Marie’s peasant family could likely ever dream of. It was also quite easy on the eyes. 

“What did you want me for?” Marie bluntly asked Pelleas. 

“Today is the parade celebrating our engagement. We need to appear in public together, or the people will think our marriage a fraud. And that would be quite embarrassing.” Marie nodded in understanding. Then, she started panicking. “Oh, is that right now?! By the goddess, I need to put on some makeup!” She tried to close the door on her prince again, but Pelleas stepped forward and blocked the effort. 

“No, no, don’t worry. The parade is not until later in the day. Right now is breakfast. I wish for you to accompany me, however, so makeup, I think, would be greatly appreciated.” 

“Right. I will do that, then.” Marie tried to close the door for a second time, only for Pelleas to stop her again. 

“Hold on. I’ll fetch a maid to help you. I know you are rather inexperienced with that sort of thing, and I do not think either of us wants something similar to the last time you attempted to put on makeup by yourself.” 

Marie sighed and hung her head. “I suppose that’s true. I don’t want to scar myself even more than I already have.” 

“If it helps any, I personally find your face beautiful.” Any average person would have a difficult time believing that, given its misshapen form and unnaturally pale complexion, along with the generous helping of freckles, but Pelleas was far from average. 

Marie flushed and remained silent, once again slamming her door in Pelleas’ face. This time, the prince let the motion go without objection. 

Marie later marched into the dining hall, head held high, white makeup obscuring any hint of her orange freckles. _Well,_ Pelleas mused, _at least her pale skin will make her fit right in with the nobility, although I suspect that may be for an entirely different reason._ Said different reason was likely some combination of sickness and malnutrition, but the court of Daein cared little. To the extent that anyone cared, they saw it as a convenient excuse to dispose of her. 

The future princess of Daein made her entrance without much notice from the courtiers, who for the most part continued their eating unfazed. She sat down beside Pelleas, who was filling his plate with a leg of veal and some cheese and grabbed a small loaf of bread. 

Marie grabbed a wooden bowl and filled it with meat and vegetable soup, dipping chunks of bread in as she ate. Pelleas, meanwhile, was making steady progress on his leg of veal, the exotic sauce covering it staining his face. Marie took notice of this and snatched Pelleas’ napkin off his lap to wipe the sauce stain from his face. The prince blushed, hoping nobody would notice the slight emasculation. 

Approximately two hours later, Pelleas and Marie boarded the carriage that would take them through the town of Melior. It had been decreed by King Ashnard that the two would tour through Crimea’s capital before they did the same in Daein’s, unfortunately, but it would serve as a legitimate test as to how much the Crimean populace liked their rulers, now they’d had some time to get used to being conquered. 

Marie started nervously shaking as the carriage left the castle, rolling through the town square. Pelleas gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. He whispered to her, “Don’t worry. I’m nervous, too. But we have Daein soldiers for protection if anything goes poorly.” 

“Th-That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m just- I’m just… I’m going to make an even bigger embarrassment of myself, aren’t I? I’m no fit for a royal court.” _A month or more, and you are still not adapted. I suppose I couldn’t expect anything more._

Pelleas gently reassured Marie, “Father must have seen something in you to choose for you for the competition. Your physical and mental strength are both to be applauded, and your personality is beautiful as a lily.” 

Marie turned a dark shade of red. “Thank you. You’re too kind.” She turned her head away from Pelleas and shifted open the curtains of her carriage to see… nothing. She was greeted by a near-empty street. 

The peasants went about their daily lives as they did, people walking in and out of butchers, bakers, blacksmiths, and other assorted merchants. Virtually none, however, were crowded on the streets for Pelleas and Marie as they had expected. 

Pelleas sighed. “Well, I suppose this sums up their feeling on us rather accurately. We have much work to do if we ever want our conquered population to like us. Starting with doing something about Father.” 

“Pelleas, surely you don’t mean…” 

“No, nothing like that. I’m afraid I lack the courage to do something like that, much to Father’s chagrin.” Pelleas swept his dark purple curtain out of his face, bringing Marie in once again for a half-hug. “For now, we should just focus on the wedding. Then, you can become Princess of Daein proper.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Meanwhile, Ashnard was awaiting a special guest, for a plan that had nothing to do with his son or his new daughter-in-law. Said guest was not due a particularly esteemed welcome, but he was nonetheless important. Important to Ashnard, at least. To Daein as a whole, less so. 

A pair of Daein soldiers escorted the thief into the throne room. Notably, he remained unbound. Technically, he had not been convicted of a crime, nor even arrested for one. Ashnard had no desire to arrest people at random, so he had to employ a few more creative methods to obtain custody of this elusive thief, Volke the Shade. 

“Oh, I am supremely honoured, my king, to have the honour of coming face-to-face with you. What could a lowly peasant like me possibly have to do with you?” Volke’s snide voice was positively dripping with sarcasm, barbed wit lining every syllable. For any normal king, a commoner speaking to them in such a manner could have been grounds for execution. Fortunately for Volke, Ashnard was far from a normal king. 

“Simple. I have need of your skills. I can offer you the most generous terms of employment you will find, short of the Begnion Senate itself.” 

“Hmm.” A sinister smile dawned on Volke’s face as he retreated into a thinking pose. “I do like money. And who would I be to refuse the King of Two Kingdoms?” 

_Oh…. The King of Two Kingdoms. I do like that title, although it is a bit plain. Literal. I need something grander. But that is a discussion for another time._ “Is that what you Crimeans are calling me now? The King of Two Kingdoms?” 

“Small correction.” Volke’s face was twisted into a simpering smile, so humble it felt sarcastic. “I am a Daeinite, one of your loyal subjects, and I wish to remain that way. I believe the Crimeans are too busy cowering in terror of your might to call you much of anything, other than perhaps a demon made form.” 

“Ho ho ho!” Ashnard straightened his back and leaned into his throne in laughter, loud banging sounds resulting from him slapping his gauntlets into the too-small armrests. “You are a funny one, Shade. Perhaps I should keep you around in my court after you are done. I could always use some riveting discussion.” 

Volke shrugged, pretending not to care. Whether he actually liked the idea, Ashnard could not tell in the slightest. “I am more interested in the proposition you have for me. It could be entertaining.” 

“Oh, I can guarantee you that.” Ashnard put Volke to shame with his evil grin. “The princess Elincia Ridell Crimea has escaped to Gallia. That is more common of knowledge than I would like.” 

“You wish me to silence the rumourmongers? That is a big ask. I’m afraid I will have to ask for a hefty sum.” 

“No.” _So rude, interrupting me._ “According to my soldiers, she is with a group called the Greil Mercenaries. They have a young girl among them; her name is Mist. Take her and the medallion she wields.” 

Volke’s eyebrows raised with interest. _Is that sweat on your brow, Shade? I never expected you to be daunted by a potential task._ “Hm? A simple kidnapping mission? I do like money, but I suppose I cannot charge too much for this.” He pondered on an appropriate cost. “Fifty thousand gold pieces will do. And I will have the money now, thank you very much.” 

Ashnard only chuckled in response. “He thinks he has the ability to negotiate such. Do you truly believe I am foolish enough to trust a known scoundrel with fifty thousand gold for nothing? No. I will give you your money if and when you succeed, bringing both items to the castle. None if you miss one. Understood?” 

Volke sighed and scuffed the carpet with the tip of his boot. “I suppose I can do that. Fifty thousand it is.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Pelleas and Marie laid beside each other, fully clothed, on the soon-to-be bride’s bed. Their afternoon was, for the most part, extremely uneventful. Surprisingly uneventful, at that. Depressingly uneventful. Pelleas has thought the reaction to their tour, positive or negative, would be significantly more passionate than it ended up being. Either the captive population would seek to embrace their conquerors, or seek to revolt against them. 

As it turned out, neither had happened. The population was decidedly apathetic to the prospects of their new rulers. Of all the things Pelleas could have expected, that was probably the last. His new commoner wife could, perhaps, have had some insight into the matter, but the prince had not thought to ask her opinion as of yet. That was about to change. 

“Marie,” Pelleas queried, “What do you make of the populace’s response to us? Or rather, lack thereof?” 

Marie rolled away from Pelleas, sitting up on the end of her bed. She had a rather ambivalent look on her face. It seemed she could not give Pelleas a proper answer to his question. She shrugged and answered, “I guess it’s pretty normal to me. I know my family couldn’t care less who the current king is, as long as they aren’t attacked by them. I certainly never met a royal in my life before now.” 

“You served in the Crimean army, did you not?” Pelleas tilted his head in confusion. 

“Well, yes. I still never actually spoke with Ramon or Renning, in my two years in the army. All their orders came to me through the lower-ranked officers. I prefer Ramon to your father, but him or his brother, doesn’t matter to me.” It was quite jarring for Pelleas to hear such a perspective. He had never thought of the possibility that those that were supposedly fought over had no stakes and no opinions in their battles. 

Pelleas sank deep into thought at that. “That… would make sense. Except it does not make sense. How does that… What have we been fighting for?” 

Marie wrapped an arm around Pelleas’ back and rested her orange-tipped head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Pelleas. But hey, you have me, right? You love me, don’t you?” 

“I suppose that is true. I did fall in love with you at first sight. Your beauty is far too disparaged.” 

Marie sighed. “Yeah, I was thinking we had to talk about that. I’m afraid I can’t return those feelings. At least right now. I didn’t enter the competition of my own free will, and I’m not in love with you.” 

_I knew this, deep down…_ Pelleas took it much better than any man could reasonably be expected to. It helped greatly that he knew this was coming from her eventually. He did not expect that his feelings were returned, at least not in this stage of the relationship. They were getting married, one way or the other, that was for certain. Regardless of whether either partner wanted it. 

“I am aware of that. It does not change my feelings, nor does it change our fate. We are to be married, one way or the other. I do hope this eventuality changes, in the future.” Marie was not particularly pleased with the announcement, but she was not dejected, either. 

Marie stood from the bed and started slowly padding around the shiny wooden boards. It was quite expensive to upkeep the wood, but only the best for the nobility. A small worry was sparked in the back of Pelleas’ head about the condition of said wood. It might have had to be replaced soon, with the way Marie was worrying it with her feet. 

“Marie,” Pelleas softly called out, “please come sit with me. You will wear out the floor.” 

“Hm? Oh, alright.” Marie reluctantly moved back over to the bed and sat down beside Pelleas again. “I know we will be married. I know that it’s for the best. It’ll earn me more money than I can dream of, and some of it can go to my family.” Pelleas nodded, eager to keep Marie moving along with her speech. 

“I also know that my current love is… unavailable. I know I’ll have to settle for you.” _Settle? I suppose that is sadly true. Something I need to fix._ He was deeply concerned by this ‘other love,’ however. Perhaps a peasant boy from her village? _In that case, shall I ever become adequate? Or anything more? She may not even be a maiden. I may not even be her first man._ The possibility thoroughly disgusted him. 

Nonetheless, despite the truth he feared, he needed to query. “What exactly do you mean, unavailable? Is he from your village, perchance?” The prince attempted to sneak a hint of boy-like innocence into his tone, but Marie was not fooled for a second. 

Marie shifted one spot away from Pelleas, fixing him with her inquisitive stare. “I need you to tell nobody. Please. You must understand the shaming I would go through if this was revealed to the court.” 

“I swear. I would do anything for you, my love. I will tell not a single soul of your secret.” 

“Thank you. My secret is…” Marie averted her gaze. 

“Come on, Marie. You can tell me anything.” Pelleas gently stroked his lover’s back with his fingers, causing her to giggle. 

“Yes, I know. The truth is… she’s a woman.” _Oh. I have heard of these homosexuals before, but I have never met one. Are they supposed to be this… normal?_ “A woman by the name of Helena.” _Ah. The axe fighter, if I recall correctly. They were in the contest together._ “We never actually… made love. I am still a maiden; you have to trust me.” 

Pelleas was slightly skeptical of Marie’s claims, but his love for her quickly overpowered any other moral qualms he might have had. “I cannot deny, your love for women is… off-putting. But I am still fully prepared to love you and cherish your secrets as my own. I still love you, despite your odd tastes.” 

Marie shifted closer, closer still, so she was half sitting on Pelleas’ lap. “Thank you. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but this is a good start.” She planted a chaste kiss on Pelleas’ cheek, inspiring a blush in the prince. “You have my thanks.” She brushed her lips against Pelleas’ chin, if only due to an awkward movement of his head.


	10. The Royal Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, here's the sex scene. Turn away now if you don't want to see why this has an E rating. Don't worry, it's pretty vanilla.

It was the day of the prince’s wedding, and to say he was nervous would be an understatement. He had chosen this destiny for himself, but that did not make the spectre of facing it any less foreboding. 

As for Marie, well, Pelleas could only imagine what it would be like for his future wife. For starters, while Pelleas had both of his parents alive, well, and in the capital, Marie had nobody. Her family and friends from her mysterious home village, provided they were even alive, would not be provided with any sort of means to make it to the wedding. Pelleas doubted they even knew the girl from their village who went off in a doomed attempt to hold the line against the encroaching Daein forces was still alive. 

And so it was that Pelleas stood on the balcony of his quarters, formerly those of Princess Elincia, the girl he had so briefly fallen in love with, only for her to be supplanted by Marie in his heart. She was definitely alive, for the news would have spread across the kingdom like wildfire if she were to fall. 

The sunset was a beautiful thing, shining orange and red over the horizons, unimpeded by the grassy plains of Western Crimea. As Pelleas stared into it, his black eyes unaffected by its rays, he pondered on how Daein was, and would be, seen. Would his beloved kingdom turn, in the eyes of history, into the supreme villains of the continent? Would Ashnard be reviled as the mad king who trampled the peaceful nation of Crimea into the dust? Would Pelleas be known only as his spawn, doomed to die a gruesome death? Deserving of that death? 

Pelleas found himself deeply discomforted at the thought of him being reviled as a tyrant. Was he doomed to suffer such a fate due to the actions of his father? No, that was not in his future. He would rule justly and kindly, no matter how much the population under his heel objected. He would redeem his father’s legacy in the eyes of all. 

Marie strolled onto the balcony next to her future husband and laid her hands on his arm. “Pelleas, it is time for the wedding. Surely, you don’t want to be late.” 

“Of course. I shall attend the wedding on time, my love.” Pelleas had already dressed for the occasion, donning a purely ceremonial set of armour, complimented by a purple cape. Especially under Ashnard’s spiked fist, men were expected to take pride in their combat prowess. Formal wear for men, unlike women, did not exist, for their armour was their formal wear. Even for a man like Pelleas, who was not only averse to combat, but an unarmoured mage, armour needed to be fashioned. 

For the bride, meanwhile, nobody had seen any need to fashion armour. A dress would do. In Ashnard’s Daein, women were certainly allowed to fight, a talent showed off to its greatest extent by the gruelling gauntlet for Pelleas’ hand. However, it was still extremely unusual and discouraged by the overtly traditionalist noble class. 

Unlike his father, Pelleas understood that the current reforms of Daein would not last without serious intervention. The nobility may have abused the new rules to grasp at excuses for insubordination, treason, and license to do whatever they wished, but they held no love for them. Once the king was gone, it would fall to Pelleas, provided he had not predeceased his father, to rein them in. He sincerely doubted his ability to do such a thing. 

One of the reforms that would likely die with his father was women fighting in the army. Few of them did, and the king did not seem to understand why, but they had the ability to do so nonetheless. Exposing women to the horrors of war was a practice deeply loathed by not only the prince but many, many members of the court. And due to his recent surge of uncontrolled expansion and dangerous warmongering, the danger was multiplied. 

Of course, no noble women had to worry about the fighting; their families would make sure of that. Nobody except the king appreciated the inherent instability that came with rampant conquest, but none were strong enough to stand up to him. 

Marie came saddled with none of these burdens, nor did she declare the royal family in alliance with any particular house, so she was an ideal bride from a political perspective. Unfortunately, it would mean Pelleas had to endure some mockery for having a peasant wife, but he was sure any hecklers would stop their taunts quickly. 

Pelleas and Marie walked, hand in hand, to the banquet hall in preparation. There were multiple in such an ornate castle as the one in which the Crimean royal family had formerly resided, but the largest one was their destination. There was a proper reception room behind it in which the ceremony would be held, with the banquet hall only serving as a place for the meal afterwards. 

Ashnard and Almedha were the only people to greet the new couple upon their entrance. Well, truthfully, not the only people, as servants were also there, scrubbing the floors and things in preparation, but they were irrelevant. 

Ashnard bellowed, “Pelleas! I see you’ve dressed for the occasion! Come, we have so much to talk about!” Presumably, the groom’s parents would serve to give away both partners in the marriage, seeing as Marie had no relevant family to speak of. 

As Ashnard firmly took hold of Pelleas’ arm, fully intending to drag his son away from his daughter-in-law, Marie objected, “Sh-Shouldn’t we stay together? And who’s supposed to give me away at the altar?” 

Ashnard responded to the objection in stride. “Oh? I was not aware you peasants knew of noble wedding traditions. Well done to you, then, for your culture.” Notably, he did not answer her question. 

His wife, however, did. “Marie, my dear daughter, I will be doing that.” Marie did a double-take upon being called the dragon queen’s daughter, only for it to soon register what she was actually speaking of. “Seeing as the fate of your family is, shall we say, unknown. If they are still alive, I am sure they will hear of you when the news spreads of the union.” She walked forward and wrapped a reassuring hand around Marie’s shoulders. 

Marie was unable to keep her smile on her homely face. Her expression sank as she remarked, “They’re probably dead, I just know it. If they’re alive, they probably don’t care about me anymore.” 

While Almedha immediately tried to reassure Marie against the very real possibility, her husband did no such thing. “Yes, probably. I was quite thorough, I remember. If any of them fought in the army, they are most certainly dead.” He tried to keep an evil grin off his face, with mixed success. Instead, he took on an expression of boredom. “I cannot imagine they would have put up the fight you did. A shame.” Almedha immediately shot an annoyed glare at him, but that did not faze him, as per usual. 

Marie, to her credit, showed no emotion other than resignation. At least, no emotions she was willing to display to the royal couple. She then let herself be dragged off by the queen, leaving father and son to talk. _Perfect, really._ Of course, it was perfect for Ashnard, not Pelleas. The prince loved his father dearly, but that love was mixed with a potent fear. It unnerved him, some of the depravities he had his prisoners engage in. It was quite a fortunate illness that had him miss the butchering of Crimea’s nobility. 

Ashnard was not particularly focused on his son at the time, instead preferring to reminisce on some past event. Or rather, as it turned out, the lack of one. “You are quite a fortunate man, my son. I have never experienced such an event in my life.” 

“What?” Pelleas was utterly confused. “You have a wife. My mother.” 

Ashnard flashed his son a toothy grin and snickered. “I wouldn’t call what developed between us a marriage, son. I simply… took her.” He clenched his fist and donned an expression of savage glee. 

A bolt of unease struck Pelleas at his very core at the thought. Nonetheless, he believed better of his father. “Took her? Surely, you don’t mean…” 

“Yes. I claimed her for myself. Even a dragon princess could not withstand my strength! That was the moment, son, that was the moment. The moment I knew I could achieve greater things. Much greater things. That was when I knew the myth of sub-humans’ physical strength to be just that; a myth. Without that, what does that leave them? Nothing!” Pelleas felt the need to stop Ashnard before he fell too far into himself. This was meant to be the son’s day, after all. Not the father’s. 

“Father… could we please leave this day about me?” 

“Of course. I speak overlong. This is about your conquest.” 

“Marie is no conquest. She is my love, and I will treat her as such.” Pelleas would not back down on that point. If he treated his bride the way Ashnard had just described, he would be on the path to truly leading no gentler a rule.

“Nonsense. I have done my best to ensure your opponent is the most formidable they could have possibly been. Trust me, I know from experience. You will relish it.” It was true that Ashnard had far more sexual experience than Pelleas, naturally. It was not difficult when Pelleas had none. 

In fact, he was not even knowledgeable on what he was to do when it came time for the happy couple to consummate. _Marie will surely be better-informed than I am. The peasants are always intimately acquainted with such things._

“Speaking of your bride, I should probably speak with her and congratulate her on managing to wound me.” 

_What?_ As far as Pelleas knew, no fighter had ever managed to wound his father in battle. “What? Marie injured you? Is there something you have been hiding from me?” 

Ashnard, seemingly startled at the question, turned around. “Oh, that is right. I must not have told you. I am foolish sometimes, truly. That is why I took an interest in her in the first place. I thought she would have let you know this by now.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, then continued, “She is truly an impressive archer. I do hope your wedding night doesn’t take a toll on her.” The king of Daein then strode away with a chuckle. 

_More of this talk about my inflicting harm on my beloved. I will not, I swear that._

It seemed, now, that Pelleas’ parents had swapped places; Ashnard was menacingly looming over Marie, while Almedha had another opportunity to speak earnestly to her son, chances to do so being surprisingly rare in the busy Daein court life. 

The queen of Daein was not in tears, as Pelleas had seen many mothers be when their children were wed. Instead, she remained steadfast, a beaming smile on her tanned face. 

“My dear son, relish this opportunity dearly. It is one I never received.” _Again… neither of my parents was wed._ Normally, this would have been obvious, but the mother was an infamously long-lived dragon. It was certainly possible that she would have been married before she came to Daein. It was slightly odd, however, that both parents would choose to reminisce about the same thing. 

“Your father and I had a… complicated relationship. Rest assured, I was and still am glad to have you, but our relationship was not born out of love and did not blossom into such.” The king and queen of Daein had made it fairly obvious by their manner that no love was lost between them, so Pelleas could not be surprised at the announcement. 

He was, however, still concerned for her welfare. “Surely Father did not… take you by force?” 

Almedha grimaced. Prepared for the worst, Pelleas was ready to comfort her, only for her to throw him off his guard. “No. The lust between us was… mutual.” Her eyes glazed over, and she stared longingly at the ceiling. “I am a dragon, not some battered damsel. I can take matters into my own hands if need be.” 

Pelleas, concerned, felt the need to ask, “Mother? Are you… feeling all right?” 

“Yes… of course. Where was I? Oh yes. I have tried to rekindle the fires of love between us on multiple occasions, all of which have failed.” Almedha sighed. “Calling our relationship fraught would be an understatement. We never did get married, you know.” _So I am… a bastard?_

Almedha had made a mistake. A rather notable one, at that. Pelleas hung his head and steered his gaze away from her. She quickly started reassuring him, “That does not jeopardize your claim. Do not worry about that. You are, after all, the only member of your dynasty aside from him, even if you are illegitimate. You will ascend to the throne, no matter what.” 

“That is not the problem, Mother.” The problem, of course, was that he was a bastard. He was surprised and slightly disappointed that he had not known prior. Almedha knew this; it was obvious. 

That only deepened Pelleas’ fears on the other matter he had been dwelling on. “Why do I lack a brand, Mother?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You are a dragon sub-human, you just said so yourself.” Almedha flinched at Pelleas’ use of the word, a reaction he did not take notice of. “When human and sub-human mate, the resulting child has a brand. I have no brand.” 

“Ah, yes…" Almedha completely abandoned any expression of happiness she had previously held. “I do not know what happened. You are, in blood, seemingly pure beorc. The brand that should have resulted from my blood did not occur. Perhaps that is why your health is so fragile.” _That would be a nice explanation. A clean explanation that lays no blame at my own feet._

Pelleas was a gifted mage regardless; much as he disliked using his magic, he had to admit he was extremely proficient at it. He was not completely talentless; that he could be glad for. And it was a relief that he had nothing to hide from the public. He had no intent on becoming their latest beast to hunt down and slaughter. 

Almedha remained silent, biting her lip. It seemed she had run out of useful information to spout, so she resigned herself to standing there, cold and distant. 

When Ashnard came back with Marie, their talk apparently finished, Almedha’s face warmed, and she wished them well as they marched into the reception room, arm in arm. 

Of course, it was only practice, for the audience would not show up for hours. Instead, the bride and groom were led into a back room, where they could relax and speak openly for a brief while before the event. 

It was understandable that both partners would be extremely nervous, given they were about to be wed. And after that… Pelleas did not know what would happen. He could only hope Marie enjoyed it. 

The only people in the room aside from the royals were servants, completely and utterly irrelevant. There was, of course, the danger that they could spill secrets, so Pelleas and Marie needed to speak carefully. 

“Pelleas?” Marie sidled up to Pelleas. 

“Yes, Marie?” 

“I just need to… deep breaths, Marie. Deep breaths.” She inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “I just can’t comprehend how I ended up in this position. It feels completely surreal.” 

Pelleas felt no such thing. He was royalty, after all. He had been prepared for this for several years. “Rest assured, Marie, I am lucky to have you by my side. I could not imagine having any other woman by my side at this moment.” 

“Thank you.”

“What did my parents say to you? Nothing distressing, I hope.” Knowing them, the chances of that were not high. _Ashnard in particular… if he spread that ‘conquest’ rhetoric to her…_

“Well…” Marie sank deep into thought, an innocent look of contemplation on her freckled face. “The King congratulated me on my victory, even if he was a bit snide about it ending early.” 

“Those eight lives were absolutely worth it.” 

In response, Marie mumbled something about the other two hundred, bringing Pelleas’ memories to an unpleasant place. It also reminded him that Marie’s grasp on literature and maths was… subpar, to say the least. That quality would need to be patched up after the marriage. “A-Anyway, he said I was very strong, I should be proud to be marrying into the family, and something about the consummation.” 

_Grr… why must he refuse to cease his talk about the subject?_ Trying to conceal a resigned sigh, Pelleas then asked, “And what about Mother?” 

“She… didn’t look all that fond of me. Something about wanting a strong grandson.” So, in other words, his parents had been disappointing. _Why do I lack the ability to be surprised?_

“Rest assured, I do not share their opinions. I love you for you, not your strength or your breeding potential.” He reached out and gently placed his hand under Marie’s chin. “I know you do not return it, and I can accept that.” He lowered his head to hers, accidentally causing their foreheads to collide. 

“Well, that did not go as I had planned.” Pelleas flushed and backed away from Marie, who giggled at his mishap. It started reserved, but she quickly lost much of her self-control as she broke down into a fit of giggles. She nearly fell off the seat she was sitting on due to how intensely she was laughing. 

Pelleas’ face had turned the same shade as a pomegranate; what he’d intended to be a romantic episode had turned into a humiliating one. I… He was at a loss on how to react. 

His decision was suddenly made clear as crystal when Marie reached up and pulled his face down to hers, resulting in a rather blunt collision of their lips. It was only the second time Pelleas had shared such a kiss in his life, and he presumed, no, hoped it would be far from the last. 

As much as Pelleas had been nervous before the wedding, said nervousness multiplied exponentially when he was doing so in front of a captive audience. For most, that was just a metaphor, but for some, the metaphor was painfully literal. Regardless, voluntary or not, their attendance did not help matters at all. 

Pelleas joined hands with his bride on a raised podium, standing above the audience. Said audience was to contain Ashnard, easily identifiable by his massive frame and spiked armour, Almedha, Izuka, and many more. All of the most prestigious nobles in Daein, and by extension, in Crimea, were present, and many of the less prestigious ones. 

Behind the newlyweds, behind their linked arms, stood the officiator for the ceremony. His name was Tomenami, the Bishop of Palmeni. Ashnard had balked at the idea of keeping any religion in power in his Daein, which was perhaps why the clergymen of Daein had such a vocal dislike for him, but he had been dissuaded for one reason or another. Regardless, both prince and king were glad the Church of the Goddess Ashera had deigned to send a representative for this wedding; otherwise, they would have had some problems. 

Normally, the fathers of both bride and groom would make a speech before the deal was sealed, but Marie’s father was nowhere to be found, for obvious reasons, and Ashnard had already said his part well before Pelleas and Marie had emerged from their seclusion. Thus, there were no more formalities aside from the swearing of the oaths to go through before the feast could begin. The feast was the foremost part of any Daein wedding.

Tomenami began, “Today we celebrate the union not of two families, but of two people. Pelleas Arthur Daein, the groom, Prince of the kingdom that bears his name, the Kingdom of Daein. And Marie, the girl with no name. I am sure any clergy in attendance can relate to such a predicament.” There were few if any clergy in the audience, so the remark fell flat. 

After an extremely awkward silence, like a heavy block of metal suspended by a rope over a floor of ice, Tomenami continued the ceremony. “Pelleas Arthur Daein, do you take this woman as your bride?” 

“I do.” Pelleas stared down fondly into Marie’s blue eyes, silently communicating, You can do this, my love. At least, that was the hope. 

“And do you, Marie, take this man as your lawful husband?” 

“I do.” Marie stared right back into Pelleas’ black eyes, communicating her fondness for him. Perhaps not love, but it would have to do. 

Tomenami donned a slight smirk as he asked, “Does anyone wish to object to this marriage? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” Of course, nobody dared object with Ashnard so close by. Nobody wanted their dinner to be ruined by an impromptu beheading. 

Tomenami then gestured to Pelleas and said, “You may kiss the bride.” Pelleas brought Marie to him for a passionate kiss, and more importantly, an accurate one. 

Pelleas’ heart only beat faster and faster as the fabled time approached; the time where he would become a man. He had great difficulties eating, despite the luscious food set out for him at the table. It was even worse for Marie, who ate approximately nothing. Pelleas suspected she had not eaten for more time than this, but kept his mouth shut for the time being. 

As the amount of food remaining slowly shrank, Pelleas knew it was time for him and his wife to leave, before the drunken and rowdy guests started forcibly carrying them to the bedroom, subjecting them to all sorts of indignities in the process. One of the nobles, Homasa, if Pelleas recalled correctly, was already forcefully thrusting into a servant girl on top of the table. _It is definitely time to go. I do not want that man around my beloved Marie._

Pelleas silently took hold of Marie’s hand and lightly tugged to grab her attention. He beckoned her to come with him, a request she gladly obeyed. 

It was an extremely tense walk, full of uncertainty over whether anyone was still present in the castle halls to notice their presence. The more time their departure went unnoticed, the more time they had where a crowd would not be gathered before their bedroom door. 

At one point, Pelleas noticed that Marie was shaking, prompting him to wrap a caped arm around her and pull her into him. She was a noticeably cold presence against him, which made some sense, given that wedding dresses were not known for their thickness. 

The couple made it to their room without incident, where they immediately started to strip down. Pelleas could not help but take notice of several of Marie’s… attributes he had not noticed before, for obvious reasons. For example, the mole above her left breast, or the relative hairiness of her legs, something that would also need to be corrected. _I suppose I can live with it._

Her breasts were quite small, which would be a bit of a hindrance for childrearing, but Pelleas did not mind. He paid no attention to it, if one were to be frank. 

“So… um…” Marie was blushing radiantly, and Pelleas hoped he was not doing the same. “Shall we get into bed, husband, and figure out exactly how to do this?” 

“Wait. You are not familiar, either? I would have thought, as a peasant…” 

Marie’s blush was lightened considerably by the annoyed glare she shot her husband. “No, I’m afraid. I tried to ask the boys in my village, but they all said, ‘You’ll learn when you’re on your back’ or something like that.” She pouted, but then her face did brighten at least slightly. “So that’s an idea. I’ll get on my back.” 

And so she did. She pulled back the covers and laid on her back. She said, to nobody in particular, “I think I have to spread my legs…” And so she then did just that. 

Pelleas got into bed beside her. He knew that would do nothing, but he wanted to make sure mounting her was the right thing to do before he did it. He huddled his naked body against hers, both bodies exposed to the cool evening air. “I think I have to insert…” He pointed to the shaft that hung between his legs, “into…” he then gestured to the hairy patch between Marie’s. “Is that right?” 

“Um… I think so… I suppose you don’t have to be on top of me for this to work.” She shifted from her back to her side, slightly shifting the comforter underneath her. “Goddess, I’m just so… so nervous. Just… could you please be gentle?” 

“I would and will be nothing but.” Pelleas would defeat his father’s philosophy in his own mind, in this bed tonight. He was determined to do that. He pulled Marie closer, but it turned out to not be that easy. For one, he missed. Badly. Her groin instead rubbed up against his stomach. For another, she was incredibly thin. 

“Marie.” He pushed her away from him again, lifting himself to look at her frame. “I simply cannot believe you have been eating enough. Is something going on?” 

“Well… it’s just… I don’t want to talk about it.” Marie sat up, crossed her arms, and looked away from Pelleas. 

“Marie, I will still love you, no matter what.” 

Marie turned around to face her husband again and shook her head, her orange bush of hair flopping about from side to side. “I just… can’t. Is that all right?”

Oh, how badly Pelleas wanted to say no. But he just could not. No matter how much every instinct in him screamed at him to get to the bottom of her issues, he just could not say those words. 

Instead, he ordered her, “After tonight, you will start eating more. You will kill yourself, at this rate. Do you understand?” He did his best to put on a stern face, difficult as that was.

“Fine. I suppose I can do that. Marie sighed and put on a happier expression, urging Pelleas, “Could we please get on with this?” 

“Yes, let us-“ Pelleas was promptly interrupted by Marie shuffling onto his lap and pushing the both of them down onto the bed. “What are you-“ 

“Sorry, Pelleas. I just want to make sure you, you know, get it in, if you know what I’m saying.” He knew exactly what she was saying. “Just hold on a minute…” She scrambled down him until their groins were practically touching. Then, she slowly and painstakingly lowered herself onto him. 

Marie grunted as Pelleas entered her. Upon seeing the concerned look on her husband’s face, she reassured him, “Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’ll get used to it quickly enough.” She rotated on him until she found a comfortable position, sending a jolt of arousal through the prince. Then, she flopped back to Pelleas’ side, this time with the two connected. 

Pelleas seized upon the moment to bring Marie to him, spearing her further on his shaft. She moaned against his lips as the two passionately kissed. Every time she made any movement, or any time he made any movement, another bolt of pleasure shot through Pelleas. 

Marie and Pelleas finally broke for air, but by that time, both were looking decidedly worn. However, Pelleas was on the peak of something… indescribable. How did one describe what Pelleas was feeling? A simple feeling of pleasure was not nearly enough, no. Arousal? More. It was, perhaps, more akin to an itch. It was extremely exciting to have, sending goosebumps throughout the body, but it felt as if he needed to be rid of it. And it was too late to stop now. 

Marie had backed away, and the two were only barely connected, with her slick folds not far beyond his head. “Could we… could we finish this?” That would be Marie, asking for Pelleas to fulfill his own wish. And thus, the solution was easy. 

Pelleas took the initiative this time, lowering himself into Marie, causing her to moan loudly as a sudden gush of liquid came from beneath him. Pelleas himself did not last long, either, climaxing into his wife with a grunt. 

“Did that feel good, Marie? Did it hurt?” Pelleas, even in his ecstasy, was still concerned for his wife’s well-being. 

“It… it felt really good. It hurt a little bit.” Upon Pelleas’ face losing most of its joy, she hastily reassured him, “but not much! Really! You did a good job at being gentle. Could we maybe… do this again tomorrow?” 

Pelleas leaned over and planted a tired kiss on Marie’s cheek. “I will make love to you any time you wish me to, my dear. Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm not the best at writing sex scenes, I know.


	11. Prisoner Release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, we get to the Greil Mercenaries bit. I have to say, it does suffer from the fact that only 2 chapters are represented in the fic, but oh well. This was where I was starting to feel burned out, which is why I ended it when I did.

Marie woke up, Pellea’s left arm still wrapped around her shoulders. Her face flushed as she remembered the night they had before. She may not have felt love for the prince, but she had to admit, he was a nice man, and she was glad, in the end, he had ended up as her husband. And not just for the obvious reason. 

She was no longer a maiden, instead being a married woman. But not just any married woman; she was the princess of Daein. The prestige that came with such a position was going to have a monumental impact on her life going forward. To think, the little girl from an obscure Crimean village, the hunter who somehow managed to join the army despite being a woman, the prisoner in Ashnard’s twisted game. Now, she was one of the most powerful women on the continent, at least in theory. 

However, Marie’s mind soon wandered from marital bliss to something more troubling; having to deal with the court. They would not have a high opinion on being ruled by a commoner; that much was clear. If she wished to exert any authority through her husband at all, she would have to do such with an iron fist. 

That was, of course, provided the prince gained a taste for royal authority sometime in the future, or his father died. Even if Marie would have liked to kill the king for what he had put her through, she knew there was no chance of it succeeding. She may have been angry, but she was far from suicidal. 

Pelleas’ sleepy awakening forcibly removed Marie from her thoughts, forcing her to face her thoughts. She did not mind speaking with him, however. In fact, she found the prospect rather exciting. 

“Morning, Pelleas.” Marie had never had an easy time attempting to speak formally, in a similar manner to the courtiers, and had stopped trying rather quickly. Yet another thing she could be mocked for. “How was your sleep?” 

Pelleas yawned loudly, releasing Marie from his already rather loose grip and stretching his arms out wide. “I am still tired, so I suppose that is not a good sign.” No, indeed. “Nonetheless, I suppose we shall have to attend breakfast, or people will start to worry.” That was also true. 

Pelleas got out of bed, only for him to shortly remember that he was completely naked. He rushed for the closet, still apparently reverting to the instinctive urge to cover himself. Marie snickered lightheartedly. 

The new princess gently reminded her husband, “I’m your wife, Pelleas. There’s no need to be ashamed.” 

“Right.” He emerged from the closet, carrying his usual purple garb. For a rich prince, he had little variance in what he wore in his day-to-day affairs. _Ah, to be a man…_ women could rarely do the same thing, or they would be the target of mean-spirited jabs at their expense. 

“Will you get dressed, too?” Pelleas gestured to Marie, who was still covered in bedsheets, completely nude underneath them. “You will be expected to be with me, no?”

“Right…” Marie slowly pushed the plush bedsheets off her, sheets thicker than anything she could ever have imagined two months prior. “Otherwise they’ll think you made me bleed, you were so forceful.” Pelleas flushed a deep purple, in response to which Marie broke out giggling. 

The new royal couple walked through the halls of Castle Melior, Pelleas donning his usual purple and gold robe, while Marie was clad in a simple brown dress. It may not have been the prettiest, much like the princess herself, but it fitted her humble style. She was firmly against dressing in the typical ornate style she believed these nobles specialized in. 

The halls were strangely full; Marie had to endure the probing stares of the nobility, some of whom, she imagined, were rather annoyed they had not gotten to undress her, mostly or fully, before the bedding. Even in backwater little peasant villages, the boys and girls had both adopted that little custom. Charming if you never decided to get married, a nightmare if you did. 

Marie asked Pelleas, “Do you know why these people aren’t at breakfast? Is that meal considered irrelevant here?” 

“No, that is not it. We consider morning meals to be as important as any other.” Pelleas’ gaze swept the nobles suspiciously. _What is going on here?_

They received their answer soon enough when they entered the dining hall, only to find it empty. _Oh. So that’s what they were snickering about…_ They had completely misjudged the time.  
Pelleas’s face fell as he realized what he had done. “Oh. It is well after morning.” Marie walked across the room and peeked out the window carved into the white stone walls. The sun made clear their error, being near the apex of its journey. 

A massive banging sound came from behind the couple as the doors bulged outward. Marie sank into a combat stance, while Pelleas jumped and retreated from anywhere near the doors. Another bang and they flew open, letting Ashnard sweep into the room, neatly trimmed beard sticking from his chin like a knife. 

He was donning his full armour, as per usual, but his gauntlets were not spiked, as they usually were. Instead, he donned a pair of plain leather riding gloves. His eyes lit up when he saw Pelleas, disengaging from the hostile stare he had been giving the breach. “Son, daughter, Bryce informed me of your plight. I must inform you that it is almost noon, and breakfast has long passed.” 

Marie grumbled out, hopefully too quiet for the king to hear, “Yes, I know.” She was wrong in that assumption, evidently, as Ashnard narrowed his gaze in her direction. 

Pelleas sighed and hung his head in shame. “Yes, Father. Do you have anything for us to do, or shall we move along with our day?” 

Ashnard chuckled at his son’s half-hearted attempt at standing up to him. “I do, actually.” 

“So, what is it, then?” Marie’s interjections were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, but Ashnard managed.

“Well, son, now that you have become a married man, your mother and I have decided it is time to give you your own fiefdom to govern.” Oh… we’ll own some land soon. Sounds exciting. 

“Father, I cannot… I cannot… I cannot thank you enough.” Pelleas took the knee and started stumbling over himself in a desperate attempt to thank his father properly. 

“Keep that feeling, son, because you will be governing Daein while I am away.” Pelleas’ eyes flew open in surprise. “Bring your wife and mother with you. Izuka will be there to help you in your duties.” 

Marie was feeling a mixture of excitement and dread. On one hand, she would be leaving the country for the first time in her life, something she previously thought she would never get to do. On the other, she and her husband were tasked with trying to govern an entire kingdom. Neither was remotely experienced at doing so, so an insidious feeling of dread crept up Marie’s back. _Please let this end well…_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Volke the Shade slipped into Canteus Castle, or more specifically the prison part of it. Being a criminal himself, he had little desire to revisit a prison, but he had received word from some sympathetic civilians that Elincia and her band of mercenaries were there. They were apparently on a mission to free some Crimean prisoners. Volke couldn’t care less about those prisoners, but he supposed it wouldn’t be too detrimental to help free them. Plus, it would endear him to the mercenaries. 

He came upon them just before they reached the actual cells. They consisted of a large red-haired woman, whose armour made it look like she was normally a cavalier, followed by another cavalier-looking young man, donning a head of green hair. _I feel like I recognize that fiery-headed one._

They were followed by a whole cavalcade of people: An orange-haired priest, a small archer with green hair, a deadly myrmidon with a wicked sword, a small and shy girl who stuck by the side of said myrmidon, a black-haired and black-robed mage, with a face that looked like that of a mouse, and a purple-haired swordfighter woman who was entirely too loud for the situation she was in. 

However, three people above all caught Volke’s interest. The princess for which these mercenaries could be identified, looking absolutely miserly. She only donned a dirty orange dress, with a coarse pair of leather shoes, and her hair was messy and tangled. Dirt and grime lingered in it. _Didn’t expect that from our pretty little princess here. They must’ve tried to make her look like one of us filthy peasants. Would’ve worked, if I didn’t know who I was looking for._

Second, was their leader. If he hadn’t known in advance, he would not have guessed if he had an eternity to do so. He was not a large man, but he did carry a rather sizable sword. His hair was blue, with a green headband tying it to his head. This was Ike all right. Now, Volke recognized Titania. It was a real shame that Greil was gone, Volke had to say. It made his task much harder. 

Lastly was Volke’s true target, at least, as far as Daein was concerned. A small brown-haired cleric girl, with a still infantile face. _What is she now, fifteen? She does not look nearly that old._ She had the cursed Lehran’s Medallion hanging around her neck, and she somehow managed to be unaffected by its curse. _Boy, does that take me back._ It did not ‘take Volke back’ to good times, mind. In fact, they were downright horrifying to remember. 

Volke slipped out of the shadows and started introducing himself. “Greetings, friends!” Those who had weapons immediately pointed them all in his direction, a total of eight weapons, if he counted correctly, all poised to slaughter him upon their owners’ slightest desire to do so. 

Although Volke had several knives on him, he unsheathed none of them as he raised his hands into the air. “Please, relax. I pose no harm.” 

“What are you here for, then?” The suspicious voice of Titania emerged above the others, questioning and unceasing.

“Well, as you can guess from my attire, I’m a thief. I notice that’s something you dearly lack.” Volke gestured to the gathered crowd who, indeed, had no thieves among them. “I only want to help you free those Crimean prisoners you’re trying to free.” 

The loud sword fighter piped up, “What are you talking about? We’re not trying to free anyone!” _You are a terrible liar, girl._

“Bullshit. Regular mercenaries don’t just happen to take trips through prison cells on their way to wherever. You’re trying to free the prisoners. There’s no shame in admitting it.” Volke donned his best attempt at a sardonic smile. 

The black-haired mage glared in Volke’s general direction, firmly refusing to make eye contact, for some reason. He dismissed him, “He’s probably a Daein spy. We should execute him right now.” 

Mist crossed her arms and stared down the cynical mage. He may have been right, but that was no reason to jump to conclusions. She rebutted, “We shouldn’t kill him. He might be shady, but for all we know, he really wants to help.” 

“Really? I have a difficult time believing anyone would actively want to help us. We’re on the run, remember?” 

“I’m with Mist.” That would be the little kid speaking. Volke focused his gaze on him as he continued, “Let’s give him a chance.” 

“Besides,” Mist picked up where her… fellow mercenary left off, “we do need a thief. We’re not just going to smash the cells open, right?” 

“See?” Volke felt the need to jump in then. “You need me. I’ll even do it for only fifty gold pieces per lock.” 

“Fifty?” The cavalier, the male one wielding a lance, raised an eyebrow. He had an odd face, much longer than Volke was used to, and his eyes were closed. _Is he blind?_ He curtly put down the idea, “That is ridiculous. We do not have that kind of money to be spending on rogues.” 

The mage, who was looking to be quite the nasty boy, backed this up. “Oscar is right. We are sorely lacking in funds, my lord, and will be hard-pressed to take another mouth to feed, doubly so for one who wants payment.” 

“You’re hired.” Ike had apparently made his decision. Much thinking was likely required, but he chose not to vocalize said thoughts. When his friends stared at him, many quite confused by their leader’s decision, he flatly stated, “We need him to free the prisoners, and I don’t care how many gold pieces we have to give him. Any amount of money is worth their lives.”

“Touching.” Volke, still making painstakingly sure to ensure none of his myriad knives were visible, took a step forward and extended his hand. The move was meant to be a symbol of friendliness, but judging by the cold looks the thief received, it was not taken in such a manner. “Come on, let’s shake on it.” 

Ike boldly stepped forward and locked Volke’s hand in a firm grip. “Consider your deal taken.” 

The Greil Mercenaries snuck into the prison, only to find that it was fortunately empty. Or, at least, it might have been fortunate for the ever so pragmatic mercenaries. Volke, on the other hand, did not remotely appreciate the lack of challenge. Only one guard patrolled the first wing of the prison, and only one cell was visible. Of course, there were probably more of both, but the Daein army had left a shockingly scant few soldiers to watch for intruders. 

The immediate first suspicion was that this was a trap. Volke darted from shadow to shadow, hawklike eyes searching out any shadows where hidden Daein soldiers might have been lurking. Meanwhile, Ike signalled to the majority of his squad to stay back. Understandable. They needed to clear the way first, before letting the large group through. 

Ike, Volke, the little boy, and the quiet myrmidon man were the only four people to march ahead, hiding around a corner. They had been chosen both for their small frames and very quiet weapons. A lance and an axe were not exactly ideal weapons for stealth, and the mages among them were completely unviable for use in this scenario. 

The boy whispered, “Nice to meet you, Volke. My name’s Rolf.” _Um, nice to meet you too… Is this the time to be making introductions? Why’s the kid here, anyway?_

Ike reprimanded Rolf, “We have plenty of time for talk after we’re out of here.” When Rolf tried to object, clearly not learning his lesson, the grey-haired myrmidon clasped a hand over his mouth. 

“Thanks, Zihark.” After that, the four of them remained silent. 

When the guard strolled around, Volke leaped out from behind the wall he was hiding behind, took a knife from his shoe, and stabbed him in the neck. He ended his suffering, as well as stopping his pathetic sputtering, by plunging the knife into his heart. 

Rolf gazed at him in fear as he emerged from around the corner, Ike with dull surprise, and Zihark with suspicion. He put on his best charming smile and told them, “Come on, you didn’t think I’d have a knife on me? A thief’s always gotta know how to kill.” 

Ike gestured then for the rest of the Mercenaries to follow him, now that the coast seemed clear. Surely, if there was a trap, it would have been sprung already. 

Elincia shuffled up to where her comrades stood, muttering, “Thank you, my lord.” 

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that, Elincia.” Ike shot Elincia a warm look, his hard exterior melting when he stared at the princess. “Now, hide behind that wall while we scout up ahead.” Ike, Rolf, and Zihark pushed further into the prison, while Volke got to work on the door he had been hired for. 

“Here.” Titania approached Volke with a minuscule bag, containing fifty gold. “Your fee.” 

“Thank you, milady.” Volke did a mock bow as he picked the lock to the cell in a second. 

Volke slowly slid the cell door open to reveal that the cell behind it had been nearly destroyed. _What the… what in the living hell happened here?_

Loose chunks of stone laid all about the ground, along with a small clump of black hair. The door, it seemed, was just about the only thing intact, hiding the rest of the damage behind its black girth. Whoever had broken this cell likely intended to use the door to hide their criminal acts from the prison guards. It had worked, that much was for sure. 

Titania walked up behind Volke. He jumped when she placed an armoured glove on his shoulder. She attacked him with her words. “I recognize you. You used to consort with Sir Greil, when Ike was just a babe.” 

“Ding ding ding, you got that right,” Volke smirked in the most irritating possible manner. “And you were just the most beautiful teenage girl ever, lusting after a married man. Oh so scandalous…” He was cut off by a brutal slap from the armoured fighter. 

“Stop taunting me and just tell me why you’re really here. I refuse to believe you to be only a concerned bystander.” She was smart, he had to give her that. _Eh, you’re out of my age range anyway._

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, milady.” Volke bowed again, just as mockingly as the last time. “Just know I’m here to help Ike and Mist, all right?” It was technically true, even if the average person might say otherwise. 

Volke slipped past a fuming Titania to reunite with the group, who was standing next to a second cell, this one double-sized. A second dead guard laid at their feet, his throat torn out. He knew instantly that Zihark’s wicked curved sword was responsible. 

Volke then wordlessly started unlocking the cell, this time actually resulting in the release of two prisoners. One was a fat brown-haired man who looked quite jovial, and the other was a painfully loud young man in red armour. 

The loud one loudly thanked them, “You have the thanks of the great and mighty Kieran!” Volke immediately found himself disliking this boisterous man. 

Ike marched up to Kieran and shushed him. “We are still in a prison, you know. It’s probably best for all of us if you stay quiet.” 

“Yeah, Kieran.” The fat man was surprisingly smart. “We can talk once we get out.” 

Volke remained silent. He had no interest in engaging either prisoner, as he did not find them particularly interesting. Instead, he snuck off to the stairs, the ones leading to the second floor of the prison. 

Well, calling it a ‘second floor’ may have been an exaggeration. In reality, it was more of an elevated platform, and not even elevated by that much. In general, Volke thought, this excuse for a prison was awful. It was more like a dungeon, which made some sense, given that it was inside the basement of a castle. Volke spotted one more cell and one more guard, neither of which indicated this place was of any importance. _A trifling victory._

Rolf had joined Volke in his lurking, his bow at the ready. He reassured the thief, “Don’t worry. I can do this; I promise.” Volke rolled his eyes. This was a little boy; any little boy who was ready to kill was truly beyond salvaging. 

Rolf darted out from behind the corner and loosed his arrow at the soldier, intending to shoot him in the chest. This was a mistake, and a very nearly fatal one at that. The arrow flew by the guard, landing with a thunk into the wall behind him. 

The soldier spun around, wondering what had nearly missed him. He turned his head back around, only to have a knife embedded in the dead centre of his skull. His brain penetrated, he collapsed to the floor. 

“Idiot,” Volke reprimanded Rolf. “If you’re not ready to kill, don’t try. You nearly blew our cover.” 

“I-I’m sorry.” Rolf hung his head in shame. Volke was not swayed by the display of childlike innocence. 

Ike ran over from his fraternizing with the prisoners to ask, “What happened? I heard a commotion.” 

“Rolf tried to get a kill. Didn’t work, as you might be able to see. He completely missed the target.” 

“Rolf!” Ike smacked the young child upside the head, eliciting a surprised squeal. He then took two deep breaths and calmed down. He certainly didn’t look as if we wished to hit him again, nor launch an actually painful blow. “Please, just… stay with the rest of them. For your own safety.”

“Alright.” Dejected, Rolf shuffled off. Volke turned around and unlocked the, as far as he could see, sole remaining cell. Sunlight shone through the margins of the next steel door, farther over to the left. This indicated that their time in the prison was soon to be over. Volke couldn’t have cared less. 

The next cell contained a rather homely woman dressed as a soldier, with green hair and a scattered set of azure armour. She perked up when she saw her cell door swing open and was greeted by someone who did not look at all like a guard. She stood up and walked over to Volke, her hand extended. “Greetin’s, partner. Name’s Neph’nee.” _Oh, lovely. A country hick, a fat man, a showboat, and a ruined cell. This prison break was so worth it._

Volke didn’t choose to dignify that mess of sounds with a response, instead peeking out the cell doors to see Ike leading the rest of the Greil mercenaries to the northern wing of the dungeon. 

Nephenee jogged over to greet the rest of the group, with Volke reluctantly following. He reported to Ike, “I think that’s all the prisoners. All the ones I can see, anyway. Shall we get out, now?” 

“Hold on.” Soren stalked forward and pointed to the furthest room, the one past even the exit. “We need to clear out that room first if we don’t want to risk getting jumped on our way out.”

Ike seemed to understand. He nodded and ordered, “Titania, Oscar, Brom, Kieran, clear out that room. For those last two, Titania and Oscar can lend you weapons.” He gestured to the two most armoured fighters, who handed an axe and a lance to Kieran and Brom respectively. _So apparently the fat one’s named Brom. Fascinating._

All four nodded. Kieran grandly proclaimed, “I shall smite the evildoers…” before being roughly shushed by Oscar. Volke snickered. 

The four broke down the wooden door and barged into the room, only for silence to emerge. No sounds of a commotion, or anything really. Ike called to them, “Is everything alright?” 

Titania hesitantly called back, “Um… Ike… you might want to see this. Keep Mist and Rolf there with the princess.” _Oh, dear me. Is something not child-friendly in that room?_

Rolf objected, “No fair! I can see whatever it is, I know it!” 

Mist objected to Rolf’s objection, “If Titania doesn’t want us seeing something, I trust that she has a good reason. It’s ok, Rolf. You’ll get older eventually.”

“Um… thanks?” Rolf blushed despite, or perhaps because of, his hesitance to thank her.

When Volke came upon the room, it turned out that Titania had indeed had a very good reason for keeping the children away. What he saw was enough to make him slightly uncomfortable. 

Two lithe, formerly mean-looking swordfighters were sliced in half, one across the waist, the other diagonally. Their two halves laid on the cold stone floor. And the corpse of a large bald man was strewn over two crates. 

His head had been split open, no, more than that. It had been almost completely bisected. His brain, or rather, the two halves of it, had fallen on the floor, where Kieran had already stepped on it, and a copious amount of blood coated the floor, footprints dotted throughout it. 

Adding to this was Ilyana’s vomit, for she had not been able to keep her guts in at the gruesome scene. Well, she had, if the statement were to be taken literally. However, she was very much the worse for wear, health-wise. Zihark, a concerned look on his face, escorted her out of the room. 

“What happened here?” Ike’s face had gone pale, and his eyes seemed stuck in their state of openness. 

“It seems as if somebody was here before us.” The mage, whom Volke had still not learned the name of, seemed mostly unaffected by the grisly scene in front of him. “And they were not friendly to Daein.” 

Titania shot a nasty glare at Volke as she brought up his involvement. “We know somebody who fulfills both of those requirements.” 

Volke shrugged, smug smile having left his face. “Wasn’t me. I can kill, but do you really think a knife can do this? And even if I could, why would I? I have standards.” 

The mage boy began to speak but was interrupted by a large explosion from behind them. He swore, “We can deal with this later.” and walked out, pulling his wind tome out of his robe.

It was revealed that the explosion had come from a friendly source; the tiny thunder mage had apparently blown the lock off the heavy steel door, letting said door swing open. She had nearly fainted in the process, however, and was now resting in Zihark’s arms. The silver-haired myrmidon told them, “You can thank Ilyana for this. First that bloody room, now this. She’s nearly used up all her energy.” 

“Thank you, Zihark.” Ike nodded at Zihark, then turned to Ilyana, who had fallen asleep. “Thank you, Ilyana.” Purely symbolic, yes, but respectable nonetheless. 

With many cheers, some louder than others, the Greil Mercenaries exited the prison under Canteus Castle, with three, no, four new members. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Black Knight loudly entered the Canteus Castle dungeon, armour clanking as he pushed through the large steel door. He had a key, so he did not have to worry about breaking through the lock. Of course, if he so wished, he could do so as easily a snapping a twig. 

This was far from official business, but it would be easy to pretend it was, given the Black Knight’s high standing in Ashnard’s court. After all, only a fool would disobey an order from a member of the Four Riders, no matter who they were. The silent and menacing Black Knight, the sadistic General Petrine, the insane Bertram, or the old and greatly respected Bryce. 

The first room to be taken notice of was that on the right, and it did not look remotely like a cell. It was barred by a pair of wooden doors, chains running between them, to bar anyone from getting in. At least, that was how it was meant to work. 

In practice, the holy sword Alondite carved through the metal chains with no effort, as if he was breaking bread. The Black Knight tossed open the doors and stood in the shadows caused by torchlight, his massive black figure standing there menacingly. 

A bald man in a suit of armour stood there, flanked by two thin sword-wielding guards. His armour would have been impressive to any normal man, but given the ornate armour the Black Knight himself donned, it completely failed to intimidate him.

The bald man shouted, “Announce your purpose, intruder! I am Danomill, first Lord of Canteus Castle! You have no right to encroach upon my territory!” Apparently, this man was not particularly smart. 

The Black Knight replied, his deep voice amplified by the tinny resonance of his pitch-black armour, “Do you not know who I am?” 

“An intruder, that is what you are!” Even when given a chance to repent, he remained an idiot. 

“I am one of the Four Riders of Daein, in case you have managed to forget. I am the Black Knight, and I have business here. Leave me to my business now, or I will show no mercy.” 

“You think I am afraid of a man who cannot even show his face? Announce your business at once, or I shall be the one showing you no mercy!” 

One of Danomill’s guards approached him from behind, tapped his shoulder, and whispered something into his ear. The Black Knight did not know what it was, but it was probably some words of caution. 

Not that it seemed to matter to the vastly overconfident man. He stepped forward, bearing a lance. _You have been warned._

The Black Knight advanced, slashing his sword in an arc. It knocked Danomill’s lance to the side, and it seemed then that he realized who he was dealing with. He took a hesitant step back, while his guards fled inside the room. The Black Knight followed. He could not allow for such defiant witnesses. This mission had to be top-secret; nobody could know and not be cowed into silence. 

Alondite sliced one guard in half at the waist, then it bit into another’s shoulder, the inhumanly sharp blade cleaving all the way through their body. Only one enemy remained, and it was an enemy who would not last long. 

“Please! Please, I am sorry! I beg your forgiveness, General!”

“It is far too late for that. How am I to know you shall not betray my confidence?” With that, the Black Knight swung Alondite into his head, splitting it in half down to the neck. Danomill’s blood splattered onto his armour, but he did not care much. The two halves of his brain slipped out of his head and onto the blood-soaked ground, and the warden’s body slid onto a pile of crates behind him. 

His work done, the Black Knight clanked out of the room and moved on to his objective. Hopefully, no more guards would be foolish enough to challenge him in his work. 

Three guards remained, all of whom avoided the Black Knight as if he was a plague. _Fitting,_ he thought, _for I am a plague of death. I bring death everywhere I go, to anyone who dares to stay alongside me._

The Black Knight unlocked the cell closest to the stairs, the stairs leading to the upper floors of the castle. He had the key, so he did not have to leave more evidence of his presence.

Inside was the person he had come to save; the bishop Sephiran. As soon as he had heard in Begnion of his imprisonment, the knight had immediately come here. He could not allow him to languish in a Daein prison for any longer than was necessary. 

Sephiran stood up upon hearing his cell door open; his position relaxed greatly when he saw his old friend. “Greetings, Zelgius. Thank you for the rescue.” 

Sephiran’s white robe was torn, and a pair of dark bruises decorated his cheeks. “What happened, Sephiran? How did you let this happen to you?”

Sephiran shrugged and shot Zelgius an enigmatic smile. “I had to let them apprehend me, unfortunately. I couldn’t very well blow my cover so easily, now could I?” He then casually dodged an energy beam from Alondite, which tore a large gash in the stone wall. He slipped out of the cell while Zelgius vented his rage on the cell, tearing it up in the process. 

Zelgius took several deep breaths to calm himself down. _There go any attempts to hide my handiwork, I suppose._

“My, Zelgius,” Sephiran addressed his friend with an aloof, slightly mocking tone, “your rage on my behalf is admirable. The cell did not stand a chance.” 

“How dare they… they do not know who they are provoking…” 

“No, indeed. Do you have my Rewarp staff, perchance?” Zelgius handed the staff to Sephiran. Of course he would bring the staff with him; he was no fool. 

“Excellent.” Sephiran grabbed the staff with one hand and laid his other on Zelgius’ titanic shoulder. “We should be leaving now.” With that, he tapped his staff on the ground, warping the pair out of the dungeon.


	12. Blood Runs Red

Pelleas and Marie arrived in Daein to a very humble greeting. Izuka, Bryce, and a half-dozen guards were the only people seated in the capital to greet the royal couple, as well as the queen. 

Bryce donned a wide smile on his hard face, the first time Marie had ever seen the man smile. “Greetings, my Queen. My Prince. My Princess.” Marie felt a jolt of elation dash up her spine as she was formally addressed for the first time. _Finally, a Daein noble with some respect!_

Marie chirped back a hello to the elderly general. Pelleas made a short bow and replied, “It is nice to see you, General Bryce.”

“Hello, Bryce.” Almedha greeted the general rather coldly, all things considered. She was not nearly as fond of him, evidently, as her children. “Why are you not in Crimea with the King?” 

Bryce winced. Evidently, Almedha had hit a sore spot. He replied, “Apparently, the King has seen fit to sideline the bearer of the Wishblade. As you know, I am growing old, and with old age comes weakness, at least to his mindset.” He coldly stared into Almedha’s eyes the entire time he was speaking. 

Almedha smirked and turned to Izuka. “Izuka. How have your… projects been going since you arrived back here?” 

The most advanced scientist in Daein, and arguably the world, croaked out in response, “Quite well. Quite well. I believe I have captured the secret to the most powerful formula known to man.” _The most powerful formula known to man? That sounds impressive. Although, it is Izuka. He could not look more sinister, and I’ve heard the horror stories about those poor prisoners… should I be concerned?_

Pelleas did not share Marie’s concerns, evidently. His face was one of curiosity. He asked Izuka, “What does this formula do? It must have a monumental effect, for it to be your best work.”

Izuka smugly smirked at Pelleas’s compliment. “Thank you, thank you. This formula is enough to power a human far beyond the standards of any sub-human.” He withdrew a vial from his long purple cloak. “The only issue is that this is the only vial. I cannot afford to waste it on a demonstration; it is extremely difficult to make.” 

“Could you not send it to Father? What would happen if he used it?” Ah yes, King Ashnard. Already more powerful than most sub-humans, and the strongest human Marie had ever seen, not that that was saying much. 

“Ah… um…” Izuka paused awkwardly, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. “He does not need it. I think I shall save it for someone who is truly in need of it.” 

Almedha glared at Izuka, something that Marie noticed, while Pelleas did not. She brushed by Pelleas’ closest advisor and entered the royal castle of Nevassa. 

Pelleas and Marie shared a confused glance. Neither knew what the problem was for her. _Maybe it’s the insult to sub-humans? I know she herself is one._

Bryce then beckoned for the royal newlyweds to follow him, and Izuka shuffled along, grumbling about his back. Pelleas shot Marie a reassuring smile as they followed Bryce and his retinue of silent guards into the building. 

“I know it may be difficult to get used to, but trust me. I have known those people for my entire life; they are much nicer than they may seem. You will get used to them eventually.” _That’s meant to sound reassuring, I guess?_

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_Ugh… I hate Crimea._ Volke really did harbour a passionate dislike for the country. Funny word to use, ‘harbour’, considering that was where he was going; a harbour. Port Toha, in specific. As absolutely fascinating as that was, it was extremely obscure to anyone outside the country; even, perhaps, some people inside the country. 

Apparently, the Greil Mercenaries were somewhat familiar with the place. Ike relayed to the newcomers of his group, “My father used to do business in Port Toha, back before he had to take care of me and Mist. Apparently, the people here are very nice, so I have high hopes.”

Titania continued from where her leader had left off, “Yes, they are. They treated us wonderfully. This mission should be rather easy.” She then turned around and addressed the group properly. “So, we are to get to the port and take a boat to Begnion. A local ship captain has volunteered to do so, for a fee, obviously.”

Volke interjected, “So you do have money after all? How odd. I haven’t seen any of that yet.” He was telling the truth, or most of it, anyway. Ike and his group still owed him one hundred gold pieces. 

Volke’s unwelcome interruption earned him glares from many of the Mercenaries. Titania shot back, “We have money for the services of reputable people.” _Ouch. That is low, Titania. You of all people should know better._

Soren was surprisingly not one of the people glaring at Volke. Instead, he fixed Titania with a harsh and questioning look as he raised the issue, “As much as I dislike saying this, Volke is right. We don’t have much in the way of gold. How much, exactly, have you promised this captain?”

“Oh… um… he said that three hundred gold per person per day would do. Quite a deal, if I do say so myself.” It was then that Titania seemed to grow slightly nervous. Certainly not an emotion Volke expected from the headstrong female knight, unless she was around Greil, of course. Given that Greil was dead, this proved to be a non-issue. 

Soren gritted his teeth in frustration. “We do not have that much gold! We cannot afford to lose that much!” He closed his goddess-forsaken mouth for a few seconds while he calculated the amount that would add up to, leaving the rest of the Mercenaries time to exchange looks. 

“You have promised him roughly one hundred and forty-three thousand gold! I am afraid, Titania, that due to your virtual illiteracy, you have been conned!” Soren was on the verge of stomping off in sheer anger, only warded away from doing so by Ike, who stepped forward and wrapped him in a cooling hug, as if he was a child throwing a temper tantrum. 

Titania was furiously blushing at this point. _Oh, my. A former knight of Crimea, barely knowing how to read? What a travesty._ Of course, Volke already knew that. And he was not surprised when he learned it. It was unusual for anyone other than men of knowledge to be completely literate. Ike was very much a precious exception. Even Volke himself had far from fully grasped the many nuances of writing. He could read perfectly fine, and his numbers were excellent by any objective standard, but his writing was… poor. 

Mist, Rhys, Soren, and Ike were the only members of the mercenaries, Volke guessed, who were fully literate. Perhaps Ilyana or Zihark; Volke knew little about their backgrounds. _And who knows if they teach the sub-humans how to read in Gallia?_

Lethe and Mordecai were with them, the representatives from the king of Gallia, the beast nation. Volke had initially been very confused when they joined the group, only to be informed by Ike of their, ah, misadventures in the beast kingdom. Their asylum application had been rejected by the lion king Caineghis, and they had been sent back to Crimea. 

Apparently, the rabid beast did have a soft heart inside that furry body, because he had then sent Lethe and Mordecai to help them covertly. Volke appreciated the help, he supposed, although it would make things rather awkward in Toha, or really any city in Crimea. Laguz were not exactly welcomed in Beorc territory. They did, at least, have cloth hooded cloaks fashioned to cover their animal parts. 

Volke, in his thoughts, had tuned out somewhat to the discourse between the mercenaries. It probably wasn’t important anyway. He returned to the farm girl, who he had momentarily forgotten the name of, half shouting, “So let’s just go talk with this cap’n feller. What’s the worst that could happen, righ’?” 

Oh, dear… Volke was afraid he knew the worst that could happen, and it was far from pleasant. _Well, if this is as idyllic as Ike and Titania say, we should have no issues with this._

Brom backed Nephenee up, “I’m sure he’s a reasonable guy. And even if he isn’t, there are seventeen of us. We’ll be fine.” The country accent was not nearly as pronounced as Nephenee’s, but it was certainly there. _Another country bumpkin. Fun._

Kieran also hopped on board the idea. _All the dunces coalesce around the same idea. Who would’ve guessed?_ Eventually, the idea won over most of the mercenaries. The only holdouts were Soren and Volke. It was likely no coincidence that these two were the most cynical members of the group. 

Of course, that tally was not including Lethe and Mordecai, who both stood at the back, mostly silent on the proceedings. Both had extremely distinct Gallian accents that would give them away in a second if anyone versed in foreign affairs heard them. Granted, the chances of such a person being in the backwater of Toha weren’t high, but one could never be too safe. 

The she-cat grumbled, “We are wasting our time here. We should never have entered such a populous human location.” _Ah, yes. Populous. Keep believing that, fair innocent maiden._

Mordecai responded, “You don’t need to be so dismissive. There’s always some value in seeing the sights.”

“What sights? Some shabby wooden buildings, the stink of improperly feces disposed of, and pathetic humans going about their boring lives?” Mordecai apparently had no intention of responding. However, he did not need to. Lethe’s small nose twitched, sniffing about the air. Judging by the look in her eyes, it was considerably more attractive than the prospect of human feces. 

“Fish. I smell fish.” Lethe turned her face towards an extremely small local fishery. “That is one good thing about this place, I suppose.” Volke could tell she was hungry, no matter how much she wished to deny it. _Aw, is the poor kitty hungry for some delicious fish? Don’t worry, I’m sure you can just steal some._

Lethe and Mordecai made towards the fishery before being stopped by Zihark. He held up a bag of gold and told the two laguz, “I will pay for it. Best we take no risks as to your identities.” Volke watched Zihark walk towards the fishery as he strolled away. He wasn’t interested in whatever haggling was going on over there. 

Meanwhile, Elincia was stickling closely to her leader, as was normal for the shy princess. _For a royal, she doesn’t do much leading. I suppose I couldn’t expect more from a woman._ The thief had half a mind to approach her and strike up a conversation. He had barely heard the Crimean princess speak since he joined the Mercenaries. She was more like a very precious piece of cargo than a full member of the group. 

As Volke stalked through the streets, silently ruing the fact that the Greil Mercenaries had decided travelling in such a large group would be a good idea, several members completely disregarded any sort of stealth. Nephenee and Kieran kept getting sidetracked by various goods, and Mia had disappeared inside a weapons stand. 

Ilyana had somehow ended up beside Volke, now lacking Zihark to cling on to. Thus, she was slowly and silently moving through the streets, her head turning back and forth, trying to absorb everything about the port town. There wasn’t much, in Volke’s opinion. 

“Hey.” Ilyana, startled, whirled around and ended up staring directly into Volke’s chest. She looked up to meet his eyes, seeing that he had his usual smirk on his face. “You look lost. You need a boost to catch up with everyone else, or what?” 

“Um…” Ilyana’s gaze was aimed directly at the ground. “I’m hungry. Nobody has any food. I’ve asked.” 

“Well, tough. I’m not buying you any. A little girl like you probably doesn’t need much anyway. Try asking your lover.” Ignoring the mage’s radiant blush, he pointed to Zihark, Lethe and Mordecai. “I’m sure he’ll have plenty of fish left over for you.” He then lightly placed a hand on her back, an unsubtle request to move away from him. 

Volke had almost caught up with the front of the pack, which consisted of Ike, Titania, Oscar, and Soren, when a scream sounded from behind them. A fair distance behind them, in fact. 

Somebody had accidentally bumped into Lethe, causing her cloak to fall off. The young woman screamed, “Ahh! Sub-human!” It was then that many of the townsfolk around them burst into action. Many ran away, with the kindest, like the fish merchant, simply shooting them dirty looks and abdicating their stands. Others were significantly less nice. 

This was not helped by the fact Lethe had already slit the throat of the woman who screamed, in a futile effort to silence her. She hissed, “Filthy humans! Could they not just leave well enough alone?!” 

Zihark reprimanded Lethe, “Killing her did not help our case remotely. Now we have no chance of negotiating our way out of this.” 

“As if we ever did! These humans cannot understand what a peaceful laguz looks like!” She then shifted into cat form, running at top speed towards the rest of the group. Mordecai reluctantly jogged behind, discarding his cloak as well. 

A group of townspeople had already gathered in the town square, weapons aloft. They were also charging at the two laguz. Zihark picked up Ilyana and started running with her. _This will be… annoying._ Volke was not fooled for a second; these men, boys really, stood no chance of defeating them. He knew enough about the Mercenaries’ combat capabilities to know that. 

Ike and his group ran forward to meet the onslaught of angry villagers. Ike angrily asked, “What’s going on?!” 

“It appears, my lord,” Oscar was the one to address Ike in response. Funny, for the one who constantly had his eyes closed to be informing anyone of anything. “that the townspeople have discovered Lethe and Mordecai’s identities.” 

Rhys volunteered, “I am sure I can calm them down, with some effort. This need not come to blows.” 

“I think it might be a little late for that.” Zihark pointed to the dead beorc, now lying in the middle of the street. “There is going to be no diplomacy now.”

Soren asserted, “Let’s just leave them, then. It isn’t worth trying to save them. We have a mission to accomplish, remember?” 

Lethe hissed at the gathered crowd of approaching villagers. Mordecai listened carefully and relayed her message, “She says we can handle ourselves, and that you should leave us here.” That was a message Volke happened to agree with. He didn’t want anything to happen to the two Gallians, per se, but he didn’t particularly care one way or the other. 

“I refuse.” Ike stepped in front of the two laguz. His closest personal guards, Titania and Oscar, stepped in to shield him, in turn. _Funny, Soren’s actually frailer than the guy he’s guarding._

Ike told a protesting Lethe, “I refuse to leave anyone behind. You are leaving here, whether you like it or not.” 

Titania boldly shouted, bearing a massive two-handed battle-axe, “None shall hinder us! These laguz have safe passage, by the will of the Greil Mercenaries!” _Are you trying to get us all killed, Titania?_

An older man, about forty years old, stepped out from behind the throng of young vigilante men. If Volke was really vigilant, he thought he could spot a couple of women in there, too. Of course, travelling with the Greil Mercenaries, he was not exactly in a place to judge anyone. 

The middle-aged man responded to Titania’s declaration, “The Greil Mercenaries? So you’re back. And how far you’ve fallen.” He shook his head in either disbelief or resignation, two opposite but similarly negative emotions. “Protecting sub-humans at the cost of your own business. Word will get out of this, you know.” 

Ike rebutted, “So? Our current job is paying us very well. Once it’s done, I’m sure we’ll have the reputation we deserve.” 

Soren stepped up and whispered in Ike’s ear, “Are you sure about that? That only applies if we win. And even then…” Ike waved his tactician away before he could finish. 

Volke grabbed Soren by the hood of his mage’s cloak and whispered, “Should we leave now? You have the gold to pay for the boat, right?”

Soren turned around and looked at Volke as if he was insane. He hurriedly whispered back, “You heard me shout that we could not possibly have enough gold to pay for that!”

“Well, I think I can reduce the price for you.” Volke popped a wickedly sharp, jagged dagger out of his belt. The newly cleaned steel gleamed in the sunlight. “If you don’t mind. When you’re in the mercenary business, someone needs to get their hands dirty.”

Soren smirked, a slightly evil grin on his face. “Oh, I know. As much I disliked you, I am glad to have you on my side right now.” Volke shot that same grin right back in the tactician’s face. 

“So let’s grab the sub-humans, and be out of here. The quicker the better.” With that, Volke grabbed both Lethe and Mordecai by the napes of their necks. Volke had to dodge a hostile swipe from the cat, but after that, both shifted back into their human forms. 

Lethe spat at Volke, “What is it, human?” 

Volke sassily replied, “Well, I was hoping you two could grab some cloaks and go with me and Soren to confront our conman captain. Quickly, if you please.” 

“Why are you trying to help us? You said you wanted to leave us here.”

“I do. Unfortunately, the commander seems to be a bit of a blockhead, and I doubt he’d let that slide. So, I figure getting you out of here quickly is the next best thing.”

Lethe looked, unsurprisingly, quite resistant to the idea, but Mordecai was much more compliant. “That works for me. Let’s go, Lethe.” 

Lethe growled under her breath but eventually caved to Mordecai’s request. “Fine. We shall head off immediately.” The two laguz stalked off, with Volke jogging to catch up. 

Soren greeted the trio at the entrance to an alleyway, accompanied by Ilyana and Zihark, the latter of whom was holding a map. The mage nodded at Lethe and Mordecai, managing to keep his face neutral at least, and said, “I asked for some help. Let’s move.” 

Zihark, it turned out, was somewhat knowledgeable about the port town of Toha. It was undeniably slightly odd for a Daein mercenary to know so much about a Crimean town, and not even a famous one at that, but Volke was not complaining. Without that precious knowledge, the battles they would face would be much longer and bloodier. Nobody wanted either of those things unless they were crazy. 

The myrmidon’s knowledge of the town’s layout, combined with the paper map he had bought, proved to be of great assistance in quickly and stealthily navigating through the town. Soon enough, Volke’s group had entered a district that Volke recognized as just about every city’s resident slums. It was exactly on the coast, and the vast open ocean lurked behind every building, making it a likely scene for a port. Also, if they were looking for a con man, the poor district would be the best place to look; the rich were often idiots, but they were rarely idiots in that particular manner. 

Volke casually asked Soren, “Do you have any idea what this man looks like? Did you bother to ask Titania?” 

“Well…” Soren trailed off. “Yes, I did. She said he was under a hooded cloak, which is not remotely helpful. She also said he had light blue-hair, I think.” _Alright. So we’re looking for a man with light blue hair. Possibly under a hooded cloak._ The hair certainly helped as a descriptor; Light blue was not a common hair colour in Crimea, nor indeed any country in Tellius. 

Lethe grabbed Mordecai, who ironically also carried a head of light blue hair, and ordered him, “Let us go. We shall find this captain ourselves.” 

Soren did not seem to like this idea. He promptly reprimanded the hasty laguz, “I have the gold, not you. You won’t be able to do much except kidnap him, which I think we can agree, doesn’t present a good look.” 

Zihark interjected, “We go together. It’s safer that way.” He wrapped an arm around Lethe’s back, in what was presumably meant to be a reassuring move, only to have his arm scratched by her deadly claws. He quickly removed his arm but stayed silent. Ilyana meekly reached up for his arm and pulled it down for her to inspect. 

They had reached a true port, with several ships moored in Toha’s relatively dingy port, some much larger than others. Many fishers and ship captains had set up quarters there, either serving or looking for customers. _Perfect. Something like this, we’ll be cloaked to absolute perfection._

And so, it was time to begin the search for the mystery captain, the one who could take them on their journey to Begnion. Obviously, they would want to look for any man standing next to a large ship, one large enough to take seventeen extra passengers, so anyone standing next to a fishing dinghy was automatically eliminated. 

Ilyana walked up to a fishery and immediately started salivating over the prospect of some fresh fish. Apparently, Zihark hadn’t bothered to feed her earlier. Volke angrily ground his palm into his face. _I guess those two won’t be any help for now._ It could be worse, however. At least they were still in stealth, and there was no commotion where their help would be needed. 

Volke, Soren, and the pair of laguz went from stall to stall, searching for the elusive light blue hair. It was certainly possible that more than one person fits all the requirements, but it was extraordinarily unlikely. Thus, the search became much, much easier. 

Upon being stared at by a laguz, most of the shopkeepers either returned their hostile glares or quivered in their boots. However, nobody objected to their presence, presumably because they valued their lives, or their businesses, or both. _Good to see somebody has some common sense around here. Not everyone lets the stink of sub-humans override their common sense._

However, there was one shopkeeper that remained extremely cool under pressure. He even started to develop a cool grin on his face when he saw them. In fact, he seemed to recognize some of them. Lethe and Mordecai in particular. 

“Greetings,” his roguish smile greeted them, “I presume you are here for that boat from earlier? You look slightly short-staffed.” _How do you know who we are? Are the Greil Mercenaries that famous? I somehow doubt it._

When Volke looked at the shopkeeper, he was exactly as described. He was wearing a hooded cloak, with long ice-blue hair peeking out from the sides of his face. Said face was quite narrow, angelic almost. The sole exception was his black eyes. That, and a red mark branding his forehead. _Is he a convicted criminal, I wonder? It does make me worry about his reliability._

Lethe hissed, “And how do you know who we are?” 

“Why,” The shopkeeper remarked, “I noticed him.” He pointed to Soren. Now that Volke carefully looked at the mage, the two shared their red marks. _So it’s not a brand, then. It’s something else._

Soren scowled as he walked up to the captain. “How do you recognize me, sir? I don’t remember living here.”

“Why, that brand on your forehead makes you very memorable. One simple visit to Ga-Greil, and I remember that brand from those many years ago.” The captain bowed, ensuring his hood never fell off in the process. “Greetings. My name is Nasir, and I believe I’ve been hired to be your captain for today.” 

Soren stalked up to Nasir and handed him a bag of gold. “This should do. Five thousand, one hundred gold. No more, no less.” 

Nasir raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Did Titania not tell you? I believe I’m owed about-“ He was cut off by Volke levering his dagger at his throat. 

Volke smirked at Nasir’s look of severe discomfort. Soren rebutted, “You’re owed a fair price. I don’t see thirty times this as fair, and neither do my very dangerous companions. If I were you, I would accept the terms as offered, because you won’t get any more.” 

Nasir looked surprisingly nonchalant, given the situation. He coolly observed, “I suppose you have me at an impasse. I have little option, it seems. Oh, well.” Nasir shrugged. “You have your price. I would recommend, however, doing it quickly.” He pointed to the streets behind them, where a commotion had erupted. 

“How much do you want to bet that’s us?” Volke asked Soren with a slight bounce to his voice. 

“I am not taking that bet.” Soren whipped a Wind tome from his robe and furiously pursued Volke into the throng. 

Sure enough, it was the Greil Mercenaries who were the cause of the disruption. Elincia stumbled out of the horde of fighters and accidentally collapsed into Volke’s arms. 

Volke threw the princess off him almost immediately, after which she started profusely apologizing. “Volke, correct? I am sorry… I should not be bothering you.” 

“Buck up, princess.” Volke grimaced as he shoved Elincia behind him. “You’re supposed to be royalty; if you ever want to succeed, act like it.” He unsheathed his dagger and snuck into the fray. 

The kerfuffle was over extremely quickly. In fact, Volke’s assistance proved to be completely unnecessary. At least, that was the start of it. A second wave of vigilantes, this one much, much larger than the first, made Volke very, very uneasy. _This will not end well._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Ah, Zelgius. Excellent timing. I made tea. Rosemary tea, in fact. Freshly imported from the cold, cold mountains of Daein. Not that you would ever know that.” Sephiran apparently had some humour in him that day, the day he had invited his friend over to his house. Well, calling it his would be inaccurate. It had previously been abandoned, its previous owner killed in the invasion of Crimea. Sephiran had moved in when he visited the town on his pilgrimage. 

It was very interesting, the duke’s little habit. He had, what might one call it, a fascination with dressing in peasant’s garb and wandering the poor towns of the continent in the guise of a destitute monk. He was a somewhat holy man, to think otherwise was a mistake, but poverty was not one of his many virtues. 

Zelgius, not normally one to mince words, responded, “I have seen Daein plenty, thank you very much.” Sephiran raised one eyebrow and let out a slight giggle at Zelgius’ unnaturally deep voice, prompting him to remove his Black Knight helmet. Underneath was a shock of dark blue hair, complemented by electric blue eyes. 

Zelgius sighed heavily and took a seat on the other end of the table from Sephiran. The duke had been considerate enough to provide an extra-large and extremely sturdy wooden chair, for fear of him breaking any regular one. Unfortunately, removing his armour, aside from his helmet and gloves, was a very long process, taking at minimum ten minutes, and putting it on was not much faster. Unacceptable, if they had to leap into action quickly. 

“Sephiran, my friend, how are you liking your accommodations?” Not much preparation had been necessary for Sephiran’s arrival in the house, for the previous inhabitant had evidently planned on returning, and left most of their things inside the house. _What hubris. To think that Crimea stood a chance against an army with me and Ashnard at the helm._

“They are absolutely quaint. I did not believe before this that peasants could have so many eccentricities.” He then stood from the table and grabbed some apparatus from a dusty wooden countertop. “Look! I learned how to fish!” Said apparatus turned out to be a wooden fishing rod. “I should implement some pro-fishing policy in Persis; these fish are delicious!” The fact that fish from two completely separate regions of the continent might be of different species, and thus, taste different apparently never occurred to him. 

Nonetheless, Sephiran’s eccentric behaviour was charming, in its own way. Zelgius shot him a cold smile and took a sip from his cup of rosemary tea. 

He then immediately put it back down, solely due to how strong of a flavour it carried. An extremely earthy taste, it tasted as if he was eating the plant raw. He tried not to express his disgust as he gently set the teacup down. It was a good thing, too, that he had done so, because his hands would have otherwise been burned. His black, armoured gloves had been removed and were laying on the table. The legendary sword Alondite rested against the far wall of the one-room shack. 

“Why are you here, anyway?” Sephiran, now seated again, shot a coy glance over the table at his teammate. “I doubt you just wanted to check up on my health, although it is adorable if that is indeed the case.” Zelgius remained straight-faced in the face of such a tease: he may have been loyal to Sephiran, but he did not indulge in those types of disgusting fantasies. He needed no more secrets to hide. 

“No, I have full confidence that you are healthy. I am technically here on Daein business, although your being here was certainly persuasive.” 

“Oh, Daein business? Perfect. I hope, then, that Ashnard will not mind if I inform you that rumours have been abounding through this town in the last few hours. I was on my way to the market not an hour ago, and I heard that Princess Elincia and her escorts have graced this town.” As he sipped his extremely strong tea, he stared directly into Zelgius’ eyes. He knew exactly what he was saying. 

Capturing the princess, needless to say, had not been Zelgius’ agenda in going to Toha, but it certainly supplanted anything else he wished to do. A large bang from outside further confirmed that. 

“’ Tis a shame, Zelgius, but I am afraid you may have to go now.” Sephiran smiled enigmatically as Zelgius donned his gloves, lowered his helmet onto his head, and attached his loose sword to his waist. He was now the Black Knight once again, and his opponents would stand no chance in his wake. 

The Black Knight gently pushed open his friend’s door to see that the commotion had mostly moved over to the docks. Conveniently enough, Sephiran’s house was quite near the docks, so he did not have far to walk, despite how slow his armour made him. 

A Crimean man noticed the Black Knight suddenly emerge from an otherwise nondescript house, and was apparently so scared, he ran away screaming and fell into a neighbour’s fish pond. _Good. I should be feared._

The slow walk to the docks gave the Black Knight much in the way of time to see that the princess and her escorts had already charted a ship. Or, presumably so; even with enhanced vision, the Black Knight could not see the specific people in the crowd, nor could he recognize most of them. 

The main issue, and the only factor that allowed the Black Knight to have a prayer of catching up, was that the Crimeans were being accosted by the other Crimeans. As in, some people who were presumably from Toha were accosting the Elincian loyalists. He did not know why they were doing so, but he was very grateful for it. 

Elincia eventually noticed the Black Knight stalking ever closer, the fear shimmering in her eyes as she spotted him. At this point, he must have been under ten metres away, enough to fire an energy beam from Alondite, was he not concerned about hitting Elincia. Regrettable as it was, she did need to come back, and alive. 

Elincia must have informed her guardians of such, because Ike immediately started shoving through the throng of faceless enemies to catch a glimpse of the man who had killed his father. Ike was then grabbed by the shoulder and pulled back by a stern-looking, red-haired woman who apparently had his safety in mind. _Good. I do not wish to kill him when he is still so weak._

Time was running out for Elincia’s group; the Black Knight started pushing Toha residents out of the way to reach them. He had no doubts about his ability to crush every one of them with ease, but such a bloodbath was unnecessary and would serve to waste his time more than anything. Time was not a luxury he possessed at the time. 

A hooded figure scampered up the drawbridge and hoisted the sails, hurrying the rest of Elincia’s loyalists onto the boat, princess first. However, he would not have time to do so, because Alondite was perfectly capable of striking at range. 

The Black Knight aimed a downwards sword swing directly at Elincia, now that she was separated from the throng of useless peasants. His job may have been to keep her alive, but death was a much more preferable state to freedom for her. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that the princess was to escape him, at least at that moment. The ship was starting to sail out of the port, and his blade had been blocked by a heroic sacrifice, presumably by one of her companions. A large blue tiger had leaped in front of the heavy blade, taking a mortal blow in place of the princess, a most heroic act. _I suppose you deserve some congratulations for that._

He then kneeled to said deep blue tiger. Or rather, tried to kneel. Doing so while armoured so elaborately was not possible, at least not completely. _To think, he sacrificed himself for a beorc princess, one who likely barely even knows of his existence. What a noble end._

One thing was strange, however. When he ran his two black, armoured fingers over the tiger’s flank, he felt a heartbeat. And the tiger still stayed in animal form, even though dying in such a form should have been impossible. 

He soon learned why that was, when the tiger stood up on shaky legs. _He can survive a blow from Alondite? That is impressive for anyone, much less an unremarkable laguz._ He growled and made one final strike at the man who was soon to be his killer. _Noble._

Another blow from Alondite swept across his chest, and, it seemed, that was the mortal blow, the one to end his life. He shifted into his human form, gargling on his own blood. 

“Still… worth…” He then passed on to whatever lay beyond death. The Black Knight had no intention of finding out any time soon. 

However, the heroic tiger had succeeded in buying his group enough time to set out from the port. _That ship must be magically powered. How else is it moving so fast?_ Regardless of how it was powered, he could not swim. He had lost his most recent chance to achieve the goal set out for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Mordecai can actually take a hit from the Black Knight when he shows up in this chapter; he just has that much HP. He gets doubled, though.
> 
> And yes, I'm headcanoning Zelgius as gay. Just a little internalized homophobia there.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm aware it switches sometimes from the third person to the first person. AO3 doesn't let me upload italics for some reason, so those are meant to be the POV character's thoughts. Whenever perspective switches, that's what it is.


End file.
